


End of the Line

by Erasmus_Jones



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, WIP, characters late 20's early 30's, getting together fic, mystrade, spy AU, working together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 55,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erasmus_Jones/pseuds/Erasmus_Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade is a controller for a government agency, Mycroft is an asset that refuses to play well with others, this is the story of their meeting. It isn't exactly smooth sailing and there are disagreements along the way, but when do the worthwhile things in life ever progress smoothly?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mycitruspocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycitruspocket/gifts).



> This little beauty wouldn't leave me alone. I'm in the middle of a long fic and when I should have been working on chapters for that but instead Greg and Mycroft were quite insistent. After a discussion with MyCitrusPocket it was decided that I'd have to have a go at writing it. As my Gumbie is a big supporter of Silver Fox Saturday and Mystrade, I've upped the schedule and am posting this now for her. I hope you guys like this. Hopefully I'll be posting each Saturday, I've got 5 or so chapters written in back up and my long fic is coming to a close and I have a feeling this one might take its place in filling my time.

Chapter 1

Greg wasn't sure how exactly this constituted a promotion. It definitely didn’t feel like one. He’d arrived at work this morning to be met before he reached his desk by his direct superior. Mr Monteith had asked him to come to his office, but not to bother logging onto his station first. Greg had feared the worst, situations running through his mind as he tried to think of something that had gone wrong. But with the nature of their job if something had gone wrong, he wouldn't have had to think to remember it, he would have been very aware of such a tits up event. Hell if something had gone wrong, it would probably have ended up on at least one news channel somewhere around the world. His involvement, even the counties involvement would have gone unknown but there would most definitely been words before now. He'd gone to the office, nervous and prepared for the worst, only to be advised he was being promoted and moved to another department. A department he'd only heard whispers about and that he was to take only his personal belongings with him, everything else would be provided when he arrived. When he’d tried to ask questions his boss hadn’t been able to answer them. Advising that was all he’d been told and that someone would meet him at the lift in the basement. Greg had asked about doing a handover of his current duties, but that had been brushed aside and he was told that they would arrange it and that he wasn't to worry. In a bit of a daze Greg had returned to his desk to collect his stuff. He hastily packed everything he could think of, not actually knowing what he was going to be doing made deciding what he needed a little difficult, so in the end he just grabbed everything he had and hoped for the best.

 

When he'd seen what was going on and as soon as he was able to free himself from his own desk, his colleague and friend John had hurried over to question him, concern written all over his face. Being so isolated from the outside world, the small group of them had formed strong bonds over the years.

 

“Greg? What's going on?”

 

He carried on stuffing files and charts into his bag, thinking he should have found a box or something because this was just going to be impossible. He thought about the files he had saved on his station and debated logging in just so he could download them to his portable storage, he probably didn't have time though and they seemed pretty impatient to get him wherever it was he was going.

 

“No idea mate, being moved on and that's all I know.”

 

“Bit cryptic, isn't it?”

 

“John, everything we do is cryptic. That's the point.”

 

John seemed to weigh that before grinning freely at him. John was incredibly easy going, it was hard to really put together the characters of work John, brutal and efficient and the amiable bloke he knew. They were all two or more people though, it was the nature of what they did. You couldn't arrange all they did for the assets in their care without modifying your personality at least a little.

 

“Yeah, you've got a point there. We still doing drinks later?”

 

“No idea, raincheck?”

 

“Course, give me a shout when you're free. You know I don't have a life outside these walls, so anytime is good for me. See you soon Greg, yeah? Oh and good luck!”

 

“Cheers John, here's to hoping I don't need luck.”

 

John hurried off as his phone began to ring, it didn't do to let them ring for too long. God knew what catastrophe was waiting at the end of the line. Throwing his bag over his shoulder and struggling to carry the large stack of folders and files in his arms he took one last look around the office before pushing his way out of the door and walked towards the lift. Pressing the call button awkwardly with his elbow, he waited for the familiar bing of the doors opening. Stepping inside he jabbed the button for the basement and tried not to fidget while he waited. When the lift reached the basement and Greg moved forwards in anticipation of the doors opening, he was more than a little surprised when the lift seemed to take on a life of its own and continued to move.

 

When the door did eventually open a woman dressed in an impeccable suit stood on the other side, Blackberry in hand she tapped away for a few more seconds, leaving Greg standing there wondering what on earth he should do. Before he managed to make a decision she looked up.

 

“Mr Lestrade, how nice of you to join us.”

 

“Thanks but I don't exactly know who “us” is.”

 

“Same as it was upstairs but just a bit more... Well let’s just say we’re a bit more of everything. If you’ll follow me I’ll show you to your new office.”

 

Well, Greg thought. That cleared up absolutely nothing. He was however quite surprised and a little bit excited to hear he now had an office. Realising the woman had set off down the corridor, not looking to see if he followed, he quickly exited the lift and hurried after her.

 

She stopped at a rather uninspiring door and opened it with the key before holding it open and motioning for him to enter ahead of her.

It was a little dark and not exactly cheerily decorated, but if it was goings to be his he couldn't really complain. It was a step up from a partitioned cubicle after all, even if being on his own would take some getting used to.

 

Dropping the keys on the desk the woman flicked a light switch and wall lights added to the glow in the room.

 

“Not very inspiring I know, but you can do whatever you want with it. I'll bring by a catalogue later and you can pick some furniture for it. Somehow I don't think that desk and chair are going to cut it. Not with the hours you'll be down here. There'll be a briefing in about an hour. I'll let you unpack a bit and come back for you. Welcome to the underground Mr Lestrade. Oh, I'm Anthea by the way. If you need anything, just come find me.”

 

 

\----

Having watched the woman called Anthea leave, Greg just plonked down in the seat and stared at the wall mindlessly. He didn't move to unpack anything and there wasn't much to look at in the room, if he stayed he would definitely be taking up the offer to furnish the place however he wanted. It seemed a strange set up, you didn't get to pick furniture in most places. Greg pondered the situation and took the time to think. He was a scheduler, he manoeuvred men around in a bizarre game of chess. But that's what he’d done in the office upstairs. What was he supposed to do down here? He didn't really have any transferable skills as far as he was aware, none that would warrant moving him out of his previous job at least. Take him out of that environment and he was at a loss. He was a decent coordinator, he couldn't say he was the best, but he got the jobs he was given sorted at least and with minimal losses which was always a benefit but regrettably not always possible. It didn't look like he was getting any kind of say in the matter, there hadn't been a request for him to come here, only an order. He couldn't deny he was curious, well who wouldn't be? An hour ago he'd been on the tube heading to his normal desk to do a normal days work, wishing he could have had another hour in bed. Now he was in a part of the building he hadn't known existed, waiting for people he’d never seen to tell him what it was they wanted him to do. He'd try and guess but really there were far too many options. He knew what the teams he aided did was important, but he saw his job as being more of a glorified personal assistant if he was truthful with himself. Anyone could do his job, it wasn't especially spectacular. Some days it could be like trying to juggle 15 cats but, well you just got on with it, didn't you? Trying to convince yourself it's worth it and not try to watch the clock too much. He enjoyed the busy days, the challenge of getting someone on a plane under another name, making sure everyone had the documents they needed and that the path in front of them had been cleared and the right wheels greased. Dealing out assignments depending on skill set and geographic location. Or the times when due to the sensitive nature of an operation, no one but him would know where an asset was at a particular time. It wasn't glamorous and it wasn't dangerous, it just was. He liked the adrenaline he'd get even when he was sat thousands of miles from the situation as well as the satisfaction when the day went well and he could feel a little bit proud of what he’d managed to get done. Greg's mind wondered if any of his charges would even notice there’d been a change. They were a decent bunch of guys he supposed, from what contact they had they'd formed an amicable relationship of trust, but in this game you didn't form to close a bond because everyone knew only one small thing had to go wrong and it could all be over.

 

Another question was who would they assign to take over from him? He ran too many guys and the situations tended to be a bit volatile for them to give it to any of the newly assigned transfers, John had his own chaos to deal with so they couldn't move him. The only option that presented itself to Greg was Molly. People had a tendency to forget she was there, quietly getting everything dealt with, hidden away in a corner behind a pillar and not tall enough to see over her partition. She was efficient and fearless when it came to problem resolution, some of her complicated scenarios had most of them boggling in confusion, but if they couldn't work out what the hell she was planning, chances are no one else on the outside would be able to predict them either. Her ability with languages would certainly help and he knew under that quiet facade was a personality strong enough to deal with the more troublesome men. Her being, well a “her” would only act in her favour as well. At the end of the day they were men and more likely to help and support the decisions of a woman and bend to her will.

 

Surprisingly the hour he was left alone went quickly and before he realised it, Anthea was back to collect him. She knocked and opened the door, looking at him expectantly.

 

“Greg, if you’d follow me? I'll take you to meet the boss. I'm sure you have questions, he can answer them for you, probably.”

 

He did have questions, several of them. The primary ones being “Why me?” and “What am I going to be doing?” Realising he hadn't been quick enough and Anthea had already left again, he shot from his seat and followed quickly. She let him to a conference room and dropped a Manila folder onto the glass topped table before indicating he should sit.

 

“The boss won't be a minute, he’s just finishing up a call. All your passes and keys are in that envelope, also the papers that confirm you passed the additional security clearance. Probably best to shred it when you've read it, but I thought you should see it.”

“Extra clearance?”

Greg had thought the rigmarole he’d been through to get his clearance before had been thorough and covered him for the work they did. Clearly he'd been mistaken, it was good news he'd made the clearance but why did he need more?

 

“Yes, more. Nice apartment by the way.”

 

Greg must have paled. When had they been to his home? He’d not seen any sign of anyone being in his home, his security hadn't shown any signs of anyone entering at any point. Well that was a little disconcerting, then he started to question what the hell he had left out at home. Chances are they now knew absolutely everything about him. Every small thing that he didn't tell people, clearly nothing that had hindered him getting the job but knowing that they had been through all of his “dirty laundry” made him a bit squirmy in his seat, but he tamped it down.

 

“Thanks, I try you know?”

 

“Hope you don't mind long hours Greg, it's a bit different down here. We don't get as much downtime as you're used to.”

 

“I’m sure I'll acclimatise thanks.”

 

Greg had the feeling that Anthea was testing him out, her words carefully chosen to unbalance him and watch for his reactions. He knew this game, it was something he’d done in the past. His best course of action was to keep his cool, wait it out and see if they would show their hand. He wasn't worried for his safety, it was just another game to play.

 

Anthea looked passed him to the door, with a nod she left. Greg fought the urge to turn around, but his curiosity was growing and he wasn't sure how much longer he’d be able to fight it.

 

“Greg, nice to finally meet you. I’m Charles Beeton, your new manager. Welcome to your new home. I'm sure you have several questions, how about I give you the speech then you can ask anything I didn't answer?”

 

“Sounds good, Sir.”

 

Charles sat at the table, not at what Greg would have said was the head of it and it only added to the unsteady feeling Greg was experiencing.

 

“No need to look so scared Greg, you'll learn quickly enough that life down here is a little different to upstairs. We still answer to the bosses but we have more leeway. The things we do are have higher stakes and we exist in murky waters. Essentially we don't exist and damn straight the things we do never happened and never will. You made an impression upstairs Greg, you ran your team extremely well and it came to our notice how well you managed difficult characters.”

 

“Just experience, Sir.”

 

“Charles, please. Exactly, we’re hoping you might be able to take on our most difficult asset. Due to the nature of the work, unlike before you will never meet him, you will never know his name. He is the most important asset we have and it's your job to do everything you can to help him and keep him alive.”

 

“Surely you must have someone more experienced? Someone more used to dealing with this level of activity?”

 

Charles looked up from the papers in front of him, he rested his elbows on the table, took off his glasses and looked straight at Greg.

 

“Look, he’s difficult. He’s been through every support team we have. He doesn't want anyone's help, doesn't think he needs it. We can't have him out there alone any longer, however much he wishes it. You’ll have all you need, no questions. If he wants something you get it, there’s no budget when it comes to his work. You'll be given more than adequate funds to cover anything he needs or anything you think is required. The orders will come down through me and it’ll be up to you to get them through to him. I don't know how you’ll do it but the challenge is there if you are up for it. And it will be a challenge. You can still walk away if you choose, but I don't think you will.”

 

Greg was silent, mulling things over in his head. He’d never even thought about a step like this being a part of his career. You always heard rumours but no one knew anyone who’d made the switch. The part of him that loved the excitement was clamouring to the surface, demanding he should do it, damn the problems and just jump in. How difficult could the man really be? He’d dealt with problem cases before, he could do it again. He rubbed his hands over his face roughly.

 

“I'm in.”

 

Charles only smiled at him, sliding a file over before leaving the room with a parting shot.

 

“I knew you’d be up for the challenge. That file there? That's your guy, best do a bit of reading before we tell him he's got a support team again.”


	2. Parisian afternoons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone for the absolutely overwhelming positive response to the first chapter. It was absolutely not expected but I am ever so grateful. I hope you like this one, here we have Mycroft appearing for the first time.

The moment Charles had called he had known there was a problem. Charles emailed, he didn’t call unless there was a damn good reason to. Mycroft had been tempted not to answer but that would only cause more problems. Charles would call until he answered regardless of how long that took, he was tenacious that way. Which was perhaps why they had actually managed to beat the odds and work together for almost ten years and in that time Mycroft may even agree that they had become friends in that time, a precarious thing for a man in his position to have.

 

Initially Mycroft had listened, allowing his friend to speak. However, when despite his rather vocal protests, Charles had not backed down and showed no signs of wavering in his decision; Mycroft was forced to object vociferously but Charles was resolute.

 

“I’ve no choice M. I’ve fought your corner and you know that, but it’s time. The powers that be are insisting on it now.”

 

“Charles, they have been insisting for years and every time we prove them incorrect. Do they not learn from past experience? Have I not run through each and every person sent to aid me?”

 

 

“Yes you have and don’t think I don’t know you do it deliberately, but it doesn’t change anything. I think we may finally have found someone who can work with you this time.”

 

 

“Excuse me, Charles? I am not the problem. Your insistence that I concede and accept your decision is tedious.”

 

“While you might not be the whole problem, you don’t exactly try to help, do you? Give me a break M. Look, neither of us have any choice in this, alright. Just make the best of it. Give him a chance, you may be surprised. With your track record he’ll most likely be requesting a transfer within the month and then he’ll be out of your hair and you can carry on as normal. Just play the game for a little while please? I’m sick of the emails and demands that hit my desk telling me to get you under control.”

 

Mycroft remained quiet, admittedly he was being petulant about the situation but while he could understand their point of view, the very idea of having to give up even a modicum of his autonomy to person at a desk? A person who would not and could not ever understand what it was to actually live this life? It was not something Mycroft thought he could do.

 

“Just make the call M. You know the number, speak to him and give him a chance. Send him the paperwork you don’t want. Utilise him however you wish, so long as he has something to do. You are his only asset, take advantage of that. I picked him for you, trust that I know what I’m doing. Next time you’re in town come over, Ruth wants to cook for you. She’s convinced you don’t eat.”

 

“Don’t think you can seduce me in to cooperation with the promise of your wife’s cooking.”

 

“Yeah but you know it’s working.”

 

“Bastard!”

 

“I do believe you’ve met my father M. and my mother.”

 

“Apologies to them, but still the sentiment stands. Don’t play me, Charles. Tell me straight and I will listen to you.”

 

“Fine, he has experience of running a large team. He has exceptional instincts and has cultivated connections all around the world. He is an amiable character, perhaps even relaxed enough to cope with you, but don’t doubt that he is a very capable man and he is dedicated.”

 

 

Mycroft made a non-committal noise, perhaps a little snort-like and not all that elegant. Charles was well acquainted with the noise, having dealt with Mycroft in this mood many times before.

 

“Look, there’s no debate on this one. I wish we could but it’s open and shut. Make it work, Mycroft or at least bloody try.”

 

Charles finally hung up, leaving Mycroft with a multitude of conflicting thoughts running through his head. He glared at the phone for nigh on five minutes. Concentrating on his breathing and trying not to throw the handset, which he would instantly regret the moment he broke the damn thing in a fit of temper. It wasn’t Charles fault; he knew without doubt that if it got to the point where he was hearing about it, the issue had most likely been debated for weeks, if not months. Charles was right, he did know that the man was firmly in his corner and worked hard to keep the trivial things from distracting him too much and Mycroft truly appreciated the work he did. What those higher up the chain seemed incapable of understanding was that a man in his position did not have the luxury of trusting the very things that could mean the difference between him living and not to another person.

 

It had taken Mycroft a very long time to trust Charles and he was now his dearest friend, but it had taken at least three years before he had allowed him to help him with a job. Now he ran their whole merry band of spies and vagabonds. It wasn’t that Mycroft didn’t trust his judgement because he did, Charles had beyond proven himself over and over again, but giving up control went against everything that was hard wired into Mycroft’s system. The volatile situations he often found himself in could very well end extremely badly for him and he had learnt through a series of unfortunate events, that the only person he could allow himself to dependably rely on, was himself.

 

 

It appeared he had no choice in the assigning of the support, however, whether or not he utilised that support was completely up to him, at least for the mean time. He was not willing to die because of someone else’s mistake, so he would view this latest development with scepticism and carry on as he always did whilst giving the impression he was at least willing to attempt cooperation between the new controller and himself. Charles seemed positive about this one and that intrigued Mycroft. Yes, even enough to have him wanting to call now and see what this person was like. He thrummed his fingers on the small round table to his side; he would not allow his piqued interest to dictate his actions. He was capable of greater obstinate behaviour than that. Dropping notes on to the table and signalling the waitress, he bid his farewell and moved away to walk along the river and contemplate the complexities of this new situation, tapping the metal tip of his umbrella against the pavement as he went.


	3. Making himself at home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, wow. So the responses I've had from only two chapters of this one has been amazing. Thank you so very much. I hope you like this next chapter as much as you've liked the first two. 
> 
> As with everything I do, I couldn't do it without MyCitrusPocket who inspires me and supports me like no one else. Without her this would just have been another passing thought in my head and wouldn't have made it to paper at all.

Chapter 3

 

Greg had only been in his new position for a few days, but boredom was quickly setting in. Charles had told him it would take a while for his asset to get used to the idea and actually contact him, but Greg hadn’t anticipated how little he would have to do without a whole team to take care of. If his asset wasn’t giving him things to do, there was no one else asking him to work on anything else to take up his time. Looking back at his actions over the past few days, there was no way he was going to be able to keep up this level of inactivity, he needed to feel useful! Needed something to fill his time, because the prospect of spending the next god knows how long bouncing the tennis ball he’d found, against the wall just wasn’t going to be enough. Throwing the ball with a little more force than he’d anticipated, Greg had to duck when it rebounded with speed and headed straight for him. With his forehead resting on the cold surface of his desk, Greg made his decision, he needed to speak to Charles, he couldn’t go on like this.

As he walked, Greg was still unnerved by the unnatural stillness of the place. If he didn’t know for certain that there were definitely other people down here, he might think that he’d just woken up in the middle of a horror movie. Hell even his footsteps echoed in the corridor. Deciding he liked the sound, but not the image it gave him he decided to change it up a bit. He stopped and taking a quick look around him to check he was alone, he spread his arms out, angled at forty five degree angles to his body and hands facing down, he started by tapping his foot, quickly doing his attempt at a tap dancing jig. Side stepping one foot and then dragging it across the floor and back to the other, he span quickly in a circle. Inspired he did a little jog on the spot as the song wound up and really got going in his head. Without further ado he Fred Astaire’d it down the hallway, tapping his feet and swinging in circles arms held high with his shoulders and head bobbing, travelling from one side of the corridor to the other as he moved forwards. The rhythm of his taps against the concrete floor and the reverberations making it sound like he had a percussion section to go with the rest of the brass section in his head and he whistled the tune for himself. Following the beat he had no choice but to start singing.

“You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off you. I love you, baby. And if it’s quite alright I need you baby to warm the lonely night...” 

Greg was halfway down the corridor when he realised this was the most fun he’d had all week and wasn’t that just a little bit depressing. It didn’t stop him though, just helped him decide on the way that dancing by himself wasn’t as fun as it could be and he needed to find the Ginger to his Fred.

 

When he reached a T-junction, he stopped with a hop and a flourish. Greg shook his shoulders back into some semblance of professional, and straightening his tie took one last look around before he turned left towards the conference room he’d first been to in search of Charles. The song however kept playing in his head as he went and there was a distinct liveliness to his step that had been missing only minutes before.

Greg found Charles in the conference room, he wasn't sure where his office was but he clearly needed the space as the large table was full of paperwork. When Greg appeared in the doorway he looked up from the table and smiled. Charles’ hair was wild where he’d run his hands through it.

“Need a hand, Charles?”

“It's alright, I've got this.”

“Charles, come on! I'm sitting doing nothing out there! He’s not been in contact at all. He doesn't want the help and I've no way of contacting him, I just have to wait for him. It's driving me mad. I'm not used to doing nothing.”

“He’ll come round, Greg. Just give it time.”

“I'm trying to be patient, I really am, but are you sure this is going to work? It's not too late for me to go back upstairs, they won't have filled my job yet.”

“I'll speak to him. Give me to the end of the day and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Charles. You sure you don't need a hand?”

When he shook his head, Greg retreated from the room. Heading towards the kitchen he could have sworn he could hear the humming of a familiar song following him as he went.

\-----(000)-----

True to his word just before seven that night, Greg got his first email. It wasn't much and it was brief to the point of rudeness, but it was at least a start. It was a request for a car pick up from Charles de Gaulle airport under the name Stanley Collins, meeting a flight from Montreal at 07:30 the next morning, to then take him to the gardens around the Champs-Élysées. Did he honestly think he wouldn't be able to do it? Was he testing him? It wasn't a challenge but it was at least an ice breaker. He quickly searched through the contact list he’s memorised over the years. There hadn't been a specific car requested, so Greg had to make the decision whether to send for luxury or anonymity. Greg knew just the person to call to accomplish both easily and quickly. He called Benoit, his favourite French contact and friend, quickly setting everything up.

“Benny, do me a favour? It's going to be early when you pick up. Have some breakfast in the car for him?”

In accented but perfect English, Benoit responded with almost horror in his voice.

“You want me to let him eat in my beautiful car?”

“I know for a fact you've done worse in that car, so yeah. If he spills anything you can bill me for it.”

“C’est vrai.”

Greg could practically see the Gallic shrug down the phone and Benny’s grin.

“Ah so now I speak your language, eh? Go home, you've got to be up early”

“Oui, Maman.”

Both laughing they disconnected the call. Happy he’d managed to actually do something, Greg was feeling a little pleased with himself. Leaning back in his chair he rested his hands on his head, locking his fingers together. He was feeling more positive than he had in days and it was time to take advantage of that and find something else to do. It was far too early to be heading home and there was nothing waiting for him there anyway. Looking around the depressing space, Greg decided to go in search of Anthea and this catalogue. Perhaps he’d stay after all and he'd want to be comfortable for that.

 

\-----(000)-----

 

When Anthea had said she’d bring the catalogue to him so he could choose the furniture for his new office, he had naively believed it would be your standard office furniture catalogue full of chipboard and MDF. How very wrong he had been. The catalogue wasn’t even a catalogue; it was a database of photographs and descriptions that she loaded on his computer. Thousands and thousands of items that had been seized or used during all manner of operations, that were now stored in warehouses around London. He must have been sitting there with his mouth open because the next thing he knew she had her fingers under his chin and closing it for him.

“Pick what you want Greg, anything in there is an option. No budget because it’s already ours. Make a list when you have time and I’ll stop by later and see how you’re getting on.”

 

It felt a bit strange to be going through a list of furniture, really nice furniture actually and being able to pick what he wanted. He wished he’d had this chance with his place when he’d started out. He loved his home now, it was perfect for him, but this definitely would have helped. Eyes scanning quickly over image after image, they started to blur together and his head got lower until he had it propped on his hand, a blank zombie look on his face, the only thing that moved was his eyes and the finger spinning the wheel in the middle of the mouse. Probably just in time to stop him slipping into a coma Anthea appeared and knocked on the doorframe before peering into the room. When all he did was tilt his head and stare at her she rolled her eyes and walked into his office. 

“Brought you a coffee. Have you made your choices?”

“I’ve got some things down yeah.”

Putting the cups down Anthea dragged the pad he’d been writing on over to her side of the table. She took a moment to read his list and then looked up.

“This? This is what you’ve picked?”

“It’s only the first list, I haven’t managed to go through it and narrow it down yet.”

When Anthea burst out into a full body laugh, Greg was more than a little confused.

“I don't understand what’s so funny?”

“You Greg, you're funny. I don't mean you've got too much on the list, you can have double that if you want. It's the things you've got on the list.”

“Again you've lost me.”

“A list of antiques and priceless items and you've picked what? A bust up leather sofa...”

“Not bust up, it’s perfectly broken in by the look of it. It's got character, I like it.”

Greg felt foolish trying to justify his choices. He shouldn't need to do it but still he found himself trying. Anthea, still laughing, held up her hands in surrender.

“Ok what else have we got?”

She scanned down the list chuckling as she went.

“At least the lamp’s a Tiffany.”

“A what?”

“Antique, beautiful, expensive.”

“Oh I'll change that, all those things just mean it’s really bad if I break it.”

When Greg reached for the list, ready to cross the lamp off it, Anthea snatched it out of his reach with an annoyed moue on her face. 

“Then it's simple, don't break it.”

 

Anthea jump shuffled her chair to his side until she could angle his monitor at her, leaning over she grabbed the mouse and started to scroll quickly through the images.

“My I make a suggestion? Great. With the things you picked on your own, how about this desk too?”

He had to admit she was right. With the comfy sofa, stained glass lamp and the black and white arty photographs of the London skyline and famous buildings he’d been eyeing for the walls, the heavy oak desk she pointed at was perfect. The honey coloured tactile wood paired wonderfully with the leather sofa and the other things, he could almost see it in his head.

“Are you sure this is alright, Anthea?”

“God, of course! You should pop my office later, Charles’ too. We've done some fantastic things. We don't have windows down here and we don't get up there to the real world often enough. You’ll learn Greg, there's no shift pattern down here. We work too much, we don’t get out. But you know what? You find yourself not even minding after a bit. Give us long enough with bare serviceable walls and absolutely nothing stimulating to the eye though? We'd lose our minds. Learnt that the hard way. So Charles sorted this out. We get our run of the warehouse as often as we want, anything to make this a little bit more aesthetically pleasing. Oh, but don't bother asking for a Jacuzzi, Charles said no to that. I'm still working on it mind you. Give me your list and I'll get the ball rolling, might be tomorrow or the day after, I'll see what I can do to speed it up. This place is just depressing.”

Greg just started at her. He’d had a feeling when he was assigned only one guy to look after, that standard hours were going out of the window, with no one to take over he would have to be available twenty four seven. It wasn’t like he minded, all that waited for him at home was TV episodes he always meant to catch up on and a bottle of wine. He didn’t even have a pot plant to look after never mind a pet, so it wasn’t like he needed to rush home for anything. He handed Anthea the list and she left, calling out as she went.

“It’s good to see you putting down roots. I’m glad you’re staying with us. See you later, Greg. Don't stay here all night yeah?”

“Night, Anthea.”

He hadn't really thought about it that way, him decorating was him claiming the space as his. Well at least it made the decision easy enough. Lifting his coffee cup, he raised a toast to the empty room.

“Here's to the future and the unknown.”

\-----(000)-----

Anthea had been right; it had only taken until the next day to get everything sorted. He’d done a bit of shuffling of furniture but he’d gotten everything where he liked it and now his office felt like an extension of him. He’d been right about the sofa and even Anthea had to concede the thing was buttery soft and comfortable as hell. She often took ownership of it when she stopped by with gifts of coffee for a chat.

He hadn't heard anything about the first job he’d been asked to arrange but Greg decided no news was good news. Since then he’d had small teasers of work sent his way, slowly at first but things were getting more frequent. He still hadn't spoken to his charge but there was time to work on that.

Nothing he'd been asked to do had been complicated, all walk in the park stuff for him. Then again he had years of experience with this stuff under his belt. Simple tasks, book a hotel. Complete and pass this paperwork to Charles. Get tickets to this sold out opera. Arrange information swap at this location complete with extraction of contact.

The first slightly challenging request came in two weeks later. New alias required, thorough back story or spoilt little rich boy. Ok it didn't say that exactly but that is what the instructions for privileged upbringing and exclusive schools meant. Needed as soon as possible. Greg had needed to check with Charles on that one, those things couldn't come cheap; even with the parts of it Greg knew he was able to do himself, and to a better standard than anyone he could pay. Charles hadn't even blinked, just reminded him that budget was whatever was required and to carry on. Greg wasn't sure when he’d get used to that, upstairs they had checked the cost of everything and been very strict on what could and couldn't be done. He’d been in the office all night, furious and often bad tempered calls to suppliers had punctuated the quiet. The majority of the time the only sounds had been typing and the soft strains of jazz as Greg selected a playlist. By seven in the morning everything had been in place. All outside documents had arrived with anonymous third parties and been swapped for hefty amounts of money. By dividing the documents, he made sure that no one would ever have a full enough picture to put the asset at risk, himself included. Greg quickly arranged a courier to hand carry each piece to the hotel. Knowing the whole new person he’d created and back-storied would bear up to the most thorough of scrutiny without issue, would be in the hands of its owner within hours. The only thing that needed doing was a photograph adding to the passport, Greg had been advised that the asset would do that part himself and not to worry. Though, Greg had to think, if he could do that part himself, chances were he could have done the lot. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth though, at least he had something to do for a change. 

 

\-----(000)-----

 

When Greg had just begun to fall asleep on his sofa at home his phone rang, making him jump and rush to grab it. Sliding on his preferred headset Greg accepted the call, expecting it to be Charles or Anthea checking on him. He’d nearly fallen off the sofa onto floor when the shock of the call had him sitting without even looking where he was going to end up.

“Control, Asset one, secure line and location. Reporting in.”


	4. Head to Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, the response to this has blown me away. Hope this first "meeting" meets expectations after I left you hanging last week. Thank you to you all, you've been fantastic. 
> 
> As always Gumbie, for you. xx

Chapter 4

“Control, Asset one, secure line and location. Reporting in.”

The smooth voice with Received Pronunciation tones flowed over the line and caught Greg by surprise, though he wasn’t sure why. It was incredibly distracting though and once he managed to recover and find his own voice, Greg had to struggle to maintain as formal and business-like approach as the man on the phone seemed to demand merely with the quality of his spoken words.

“Asset one, got that. Line clear, speak freely.”

“Situation not critical, asset is simply calling at request of higher command.”

“Alright then, we’ll take advantage of the call then. I’m emailing details of your next assignment to you now. We can discuss any issues and you can advise what aspects you will allow me to take care of.”

Well he didn’t have to sound so unhappy at calling in. He knew not to take it personally, it was the same with any asset no matter the level they all rejected change and pushed back, so he’d put aside his own feelings and at least make everything he could out of this opportunity. If that meant backing the guy into a corner to ensure he was included, then so be it. A risky strategy for sure, but he couldn’t really see a “nicey nicey” approach having much of an impact. They would be working together for as long a time as Greg could manage, so he needed to work out just where the man’s buttons were and how to press them. The file Charles had given him had contained a basic overview and psychological evaluation of his new charge. Words on a page were great but it was only by speaking to him that Greg would learn who he was and how best to handle him.

“Control, I have the file. I will perform the necessary arrangements myself.”

“Look Asset, I’m here to make your life easier. How am I supposed to do that if you won’t loosen your control enough for me to do it? I thought we’d made progress, I honestly did, but now we’re sliding back where we started. Allow me to help; I’ve done the things you deemed unimportant enough to let me handle and you haven’t complained.”

“Control, your assistance is not required at this time.”

“Care to tell me when you will decide I am able to help? Will that day ever actually come?”

“Control…”

“Actually no, let me speak. I assure you the crumbs you’ve sent my way don’t even begin to show you what I can do. I may spend my life in offices but don’t think that means I don’t have the ability to handle any situation you throw at me. At least give me the chance to prove myself before you decide to fight this.”

“Continuity is crucial; your involvement at an inopportune moment could prove disastrous.”

“I am aware of the delicate nature of your missions. I am an experienced controller, not a greenhorn who is going to make risky decisions, at least not without carefully weighing them and making the appropriate call. Please also be aware that you are one man, I am used to controlling a team, Asset. Allow me to offer to you the same I offered them. Do you hear me? Twenty people who all understood that I could help them as long as they let me.”

Greg had a feeling this was a critical discussion that they needed to have. He needed to stand up to the steam roller that seemed to be his new challenge, to stand his ground and make his case. He guessed that opposition to his will was not something the man with the smooth voice was used to.

“Twenty people yes, but not twenty people with as much on the line as I, Control. This is my life and I risk it gladly for my Country, but I cannot and will not allow someone else to be careless with it.”

That was it, Greg’s temper had been fairly dormant, far out shadowed by general annoyance and everything had been under control. But for the man to say he was careless? To dare question his ability and dedication? To suggest he would deliberately endanger his life further? Greg was very proud of the way he conducted his job. He’d spent years making connections and setting up channels outside of the normal official ones, specifically to make sure that the men and women he looked after were safe and could do their jobs to the best of their abilities. He tried to keep his voice even, but knew that his barely restrained anger was clear. The speed of his speech increased until he was rattling off words, barely pausing to breathe between his sentences. He’d allowed his control to slip and now his blood was pumping and he was firing on all cylinders.

“Say anything you want about me personally but never dare to assume I am even slightly careless when it comes to the lives of the people I'm charged with aiding! I’m dedicated to each of my charges, it is my job to keep you alive and I’m devoted to that task. But how would you know? You don’t let me show you what I’m capable of. You don’t know me, Asset. You’ve no idea what I can do!”

Mycroft was taken aback. Never had any of the people assigned to assist him contained this much fire. None had ever pushed back when he was deliberately difficult in an effort to make them leave. They treated him with kid gloves and he had come to expect nothing less. Mycroft had never suspected Charles would change his strategy and assign someone who was apparently willing to go toe to toe with him. His own uncharacteristic outburst was surprising in itself, he didn’t allow himself to be drawn into emotional displays and an argument definitely constituted an expression of emotion. Mycroft quickly shut down his emotions to become cold and unfeeling. He knew that when he did this his voice became almost that of an automaton, completely devoid of personality.

“Then we agree on one point, we do not know each other. Nor do I wish to change that fact. These assignments are temporary, Control. Do not become comfortable in your position, the situation will be remedied. Asset ending contact.”

Without allowing Greg to speak again the line was severed, leaving him sitting somewhat shell shocked in his seat. He hadn’t expected the man to back down and retreat, but finishing the call just when they had been getting somewhere? It was a surprise. He had thought he would meet him comment for comment not have to leave with threats regarding his job. He’d hoped for more, he really had but they were oil and water, but Greg maintained hope. Hope that he could reach out to the asset and gradually foster a working relationship that could only benefit each of them. Once he was able to identify the reasons none of the other coordinators had lasted he could work on his approach. The phone call said a lot but there was always more to discover. No one could say Greg Lestrade wasn't up for a challenge. In fact he thrived on them. Greg spoke to the empty office.

“Game on.”

\----

As always Charles was being buried in a myriad of different pieces of paperwork that called for his attention when his phone rang. Seeking any respite from the mountain he answered immediately.

“This is not going to work, Charles.”

He had known that at some point this call was going to happen. Though truthfully he hadn't expected it to take this long.

“Mycroft, you have to make it work. Last chance, remember?”

There were blustering half words expressed down the phone, hearing them Charles had to fight back the smile that threatened to make itself heard in his voice.

“I require his removal immediately. There can be no other course of action. If you insist I require a controller then find me another, he is not suited. His attitude and contrary nature are incompatible with the position.”

“What happened?”

“As per your order, a call was made to report in…”

“Wait. You actually called? You actually spoke to him?”

“As per your order!”

“Well I wasn’t sure it would actually happen.”

“I called, leave it there, that is not the current issue. The conversation was less than satisfactory and ended abruptly.”

“You put the phone down on him, didn’t you?”

“Charles, will you focus on the pertinent issue!”

“Which would be?”

“That I am unable to work with someone of his nature.”

“Right, let me get this straight. If I’ve got this right the main issue is that he didn’t immediately bow to your demands and wouldn’t take your bullshit. Is that what happened?”

“I would not have phrased it as such.”

“But I’m right? Mycroft, I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again. Suck it up. I’m not pulling him from the job. Get past your reservations and your bloody ego. He is superb at his job and he can make your life much easier if you would just release some control to him. I don’t choose people who are useless, Mycroft. You know that. I chose you, didn’t I?”

“It is probable you peaked early.”

Charles knew he had made the rod for his own back with this. He had allowed Mycroft a certain degree of freedom that was not afforded to any of the others, he acknowledged that perhaps that had been a mistake. Mycroft had alienated himself from almost everyone, but it was too late to change the past, the future was another matter altogether though. The professional part of Charles was extremely happy with the work Mycroft did, he was the best negotiator, information gatherer he had and his instant reasoning skills were exemplary. However, as his friend? Charles worried for Mycroft, outside of his friendship with him and by extension his family, Mycroft pushed everyone away. The man needed friends and if the only way Charles could make that happen was to throw them in his path, then so be it. Greg countered Mycroft and he thought he might just be a positive influence on the too serious man. Despite his cheery and jester like exploits at times, he was a perfect counterpoint and if Mycroft would just give it a chance he knew they had the potential to form a truly frighteningly efficient partnership. As the top of both of their fields there was so much promise, if only they could make it past this initial resistance.

“Mycroft, just listen. Give it a chance, if you try and you are still not able to work together? Then fine. I will re-evaluate the situation and see if we can agree a compromise. Does that make you a bit happier at least?”

Mycroft hmm’d in acceptance, it may not have been an outright yes but Charles had a feeling that was the best he was going to get. He decided to push his luck a little.

“Mycroft, call him back. Apologise and give him something to do. Your next mission isn’t critical enough that you can’t allow him to help on a trial basis. Let him arrange transport, accommodation. Anything just include him. Don't think I don't know you've been barely allowing the man jobs any half brained person could do. Test the waters with this. You might just be surprised."

With a grumbled farewell, Mycroft disconnected the call. At least he had stayed on the phone to listen and hadn’t hung up on him as he’d been known to in the past when faced with something he didn’t want to listen to. Sitting in silence again in the circle of light caused by the lights over the table, Charles took a moment to slump in the chair. He’d had never heard an outburst quite like that from Mycroft before, not in all the years they’d known each other and a part of him wanted to do a cautious victory dance. To inspire such a vehement response, Greg must be doing something right. Never before had Mycroft demanded the removal of a controller, he was usually content to wait for them to leave, it was never a long wait but Greg was tenacious. Finding Greg, already so close had been a happy coincidence, Charles had been looking for a specific personality type to partner Mycroft and had given effectively begun to give up. Skill at the job alone was not going to be enough and he’d known it, though now perhaps there was a chance. He just hoped his plan didn’t backfire in a spectacular fashion.


	5. Mending bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking off where the last chapter ended, Mycroft is at the end of the line and bridges must be repaired.
> 
> Thank you for the response to this, it's a huge boost to see every single comment and Kudos and watch the count on readers go up. I don't think there is anything else I could ask for. You've been amazing. 
> 
> To Gumbie as always, her favourite pairing and a story that came out of an idea I shared with her. I hope you enjoy xx

Greg was starting to lose his nerve. It had been two days since the argument, two days of silence and tense waiting, but he’d heard nothing from the asset and Charles hadn’t come looking for him to give him his marching orders. The mission that had caused the whole affair was fast approaching; there were only three days before it was scheduled to start. Surely they had to have made some progress by then? Greg had to admit of the two of them he was clearly the expendable one, you didn’t shelve an asset just because he didn’t get on with a handler, you simply changed the handler. Even though he knew he was not the first to have had problems it didn’t make him feel any better. The feeling of failure permeated his practically empty days. Greg didn’t know what he’d do if it all went wrong, would they allow him to go back to his old job? Had they already filled his seat? There were just too many unanswered questions and they had him on edge and twitching.

As he watched the fading sun through his living room window he sank deeper into the couch. With his back jammed into the corner he stretched his left leg along the cushions so that it almost reached the opposite arm, he bent his right at the knee and rested his bare foot against the cool wooden floor, trying to be casual and relax. Greg sipped at the glass of wine in his hand, trying to shake off the funk that weighed him down. He supposed some might see having time to spare as a bonus, Greg only saw it as evidence of his inability to do his job. He didn't really know what to do with himself if he was honest. He didn't have any hobbies or friends outside of work and he really didn't feel like seeing them right now. John would try to help but Greg wasn't sure if he could even be vague about what was going on, contrary to his previous job Greg felt extremely isolated and he didn't like it one bit.

Greg closed his eyes and tilted his head back, searching for inspiration. He knew he had to do something, anything really. Even if that meant he had to swallow his pride and apologise, if they had any hope of salvaging the situation they had to move past this as quickly as they could, Greg just hoped they’d get the chance. It had been just too much and too soon, he was impetuous and had to face the fact that he’d clearly pushed too hard and too fast, forcing his demands on a man clearly set in his way and very proud to boot. Greg thought back to their argument and it made him groan. He should have known better, he just had to hope he’d get another chance.

 

Managing to escape the clutches of the sofa Greg got to his feet, the silence of the apartment wasn’t helping to stop him thinking, so music was in order. He wandered over to his CD collection and sipping his wine stared blankly at the racks, searching the rows of cases for the perfect soundtrack to wallow in. Pulling a CD from the rack he slid it in to the player, pressed play and moved back to the sofa. Greg had no intentions of moving from his comfy spot all evening, chances were he’d wake up there at some ridiculous time in the morning before staggering to spend the rest of the night in his bed.

 

As soft blues played away in the background, Greg found his eyes slipping closed, leaving him drifting in that half awake state where dreams started. When he heard a phone ring, he struggled to open his eyes; not sure if the sound existed only in his mind. When it rang again he almost fell off the sofa in his haste to reach the phone. Sliding his legs around he planted his feet on the floor and tried to shake the sleep from his brain as he pressed the handset to his ear.

“Hello?”

Greg pulled the phone from his ear to check the number when he heard nothing back, thinking perhaps the phone hadn’t rung after all. It was a while until a familiar posh voice came over the line.

 

“Control.”

 

Now Greg was convinced he must be dreaming, there was no way he’d heard what he thought he did. He couldn't stop a hint of his shock from bleeding into his voice.

 

“Asset one?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Do you require assistance?”

 

Mycroft could hear the incredulity in Control’s voice. He could also hear the faint slowing of his speech pattern, the man had been asleep but had still answered the phone ready to help in two rings. When he wasn't quick enough in responding, Control asked again but a little sharper than before.

 

“Is everything ok, Asset? Can I do anything for you?”

 

“Control, I called merely to…”

 

He tried to gather his nerves, only getting frustrated at himself when he paused. Mycroft Holmes was not used to being unsure, least of all to doubting himself. He knew this had to be done, Charles had all but demanded it of him. It had taken him days to get this far as it was, all be it with several nudges from Charles, who was determined he remedy the situation and quickly. Mycroft was still smarting from his discussion with Charles, he had known when he called that he should have waited and calmed his temper before running his mouth without thinking. The only saving grace had been that his friendship with Charles was strong enough that he understood Mycroft extremely well and was able to tell him when needed to get a grip of himself and act like an adult.

 

“Control, all is well. At least I hope that it shall be. I would like to apologise for my deplorable behaviour when last we spoke.”

 

Ok now Greg knew he was dreaming. There couldn’t be another explanation, he can’t possibly have heard what he thought he did. But then, although the voice had been somewhat tentative, the words had been perfectly enunciated. Greg realised he’d best not leave a large gap before he spoke, this had to be a momentous occasion. At least something worth noting, after their last disaster this time Greg was going to keep his head.

 

“Apologise?”

 

“Affirmative Control, my words were unacceptable and not in the least professional.”

 

“Apology accepted, I also have to add my own. I had no right say the things I did. How about we forget it happened and move on?”

 

“Control, you are most gracious. We must do our best to weather the situation, our working together is not optional so we must navigate this and do our best to form a working partnership that benefits us both.”

 

“We can make it work, it’s going to take compromise but I have to believe we’ve been paired for a reason. Together Asset, we’re going to be formidable!”

 

“I wish I shared your optimism, however I am willing to try.”

 

“That’s all I ask. One thing though?”

 

“Proceed, Control.”

 

“Could we possibly ditch all this Control and Asset business?”

 

“You are aware of the parameters already set with regards to such matters.”

 

“I can’t and won’t just keep calling you “Asset”. I’m sorry it’s just not going to work. If you’re the only person I get to speak to, I at least need to give you a name.”

 

“Even if I veto this, you will persist will you not?”

 

“Got it in one. Now I’ve just got to work out what you sound like.”

 

“I am almost afraid to ask, but do go on.”

 

“Well you sound like a Jonty or something similar.”

 

“I gather from the tone of your voice you do not approve of the name.”

 

“It’s fine I suppose, it’s just a bit I don’t know, ridiculous.”

 

Mycroft knew he could not reveal his name and if Control thought Jonty was ridiculous, what on earth would he think if he were to learn his given name? It wasn’t exactly common, and had in his lifetime left him open to a modicum of ridicule. Then he began to question why exactly he was even worrying about what this man might think of his name. This was previously un-walked ground, and never mind his answer he was concerned about his initial reaction so very unlike his normal assured self. He was unbalanced and intrigued. He was snapped out of his reverie by a voice that made him jump. Cursing himself he scrambled to work out if he had missed a question he was required to respond to.

“You’re very quiet there. I didn’t just insult you and guess right, did I?”

 

“Not at all, Control. I was merely pondering the prospect of being called Jonty. I find myself rather opposed to the idea.”

 

“Yeah, it’s not right. How about I list some and you can pick from them? Or at least tell me which you hate least. I might even, if you are lucky, take your opinion into account.”

 

Greg couldn’t help it. He felt as though he needed to make this connection. He still had him on the phone and while the conversation hadn’t exactly started easy, it was getting better and they were conversing. Neither of them was shouting and there may even be a hint of amusement in the man’s voice. He wanted to get to know him, even just the hints of the personality peeking out had Greg wanting to know more. He just had to keep him on the phone a little bit longer.

 

“Right, you ready?”

 

Greg waited and wasn’t disappointed when he heard a hmmm in his ear. The rigidity leaving his body as the conversation progressed, he slumped back in to the sofa cushions leaving his wine on the coffee table completely forgotten.

 

“Here are my suggestions, feel free to stop me when you hear one you like.”

 

Mycroft was doubtful; he was perfectly agreeable with being referred to as Asset. Yet Control did not seem to be willing to let the issue he perceived pass unresolved. Looking through the glass wall of his current apartment, Mycroft’s eyes lost focus and the sparkling lights of the city blurred as he reclined in the chair to listen to Control. Enjoying the rare occasion he had someone to speak to in the evening. Picking up his crystal tumbler of rather fine whisky he took a sip as the joking voice returned.

 

“Ok now my mind has gone blank and the only option presenting itself is Gandalf. So what else could you be? You don’t sound like anything as normal as a Steve or Dave. We’ve ruled out Jonty and with that can go Tarquin and anything that sounds like that. I’m guessing you’d object to something superhero like? Ironman?”

 

“I am likely to object to most suggestions, however I must most vehemently object to Ironman, yes.”

 

“Right so that’s a no to superhero’s. Yoda? Obi Wan? Legolas? Gimli? Aragorn? Luke? Leia? Any of these making an impact?”

 

“I believe your inner geek may be making an appearance, Control.”

 

“Not so much inner thank you very much, but is that a sense of humour I’m hearing, person soon to be formally referred to as Asset?”

 

Mycroft coughed to hide his laugh. Perhaps he had been hasty dismissing Charles’ choice so readily. He was certainly demonstrating a flair for the ridiculous. Whether he would be able to support him as needed was yet to be seen, though perhaps things would not be as negative as he had previously feared.

 

“I do believe your suggestions are becoming more outlandish and increasingly foolish.”

 

Mycroft was enjoying himself. A real smile curved his lips and he felt the banter begin to flow between them.

 

“Could you at least restrain yourself to selecting only what one would consider male names?”

 

“I could I suppose. Seems a shame though. Outlandish or not, you don’t really mind it. You’re enjoying this.”

 

Greg didn’t expect an answer to that, not really. He never would have thought that in one phone call they would manage to get to this point. Behind the dour and temperamental exterior there appeared to be a man prepared to take the time to laugh. It was a whisper he almost missed and Greg would question himself over what he heard for quite a while.

 

“Mayhaps I do not and mayhaps I am.”

 

Greg continued, filling the empty space and covering the pause as though there had been no nearly wistful exclamation, never mind what had actually been said, the breathy way in which the words came to him spoke volumes. This was what they needed; time to talk without pressure, without agenda. They were taking tentative steps and Greg had his fingers crossed.

 

“How about you think about it and the next time we speak you can let me know which one you prefer. You might even want to think up some ideas of your own.”

 

“If I fail to make a selection?”

 

“Then I pick. All very simple really.”

 

“Then I concede and shall think on the matter. This was most unexpected and one may almost say enjoyable.”

 

Greg hadn’t realised how much he had begun to like the voice. The tones, the cadence of the words, it was all lulling him back to the drowsiness at the beginning of the call. He truly hoped that they could do this again and that it was a sign that they would be able to work together after all. Rubbing his hand against the back of his neck he couldn’t help look sheepish even if there was no one else there to see him.

 

“Yeah, it was actually. Maybe we can even do it again?”

 

“I believe it may be a possibility. Perhaps tomorrow we can discuss the next mission, I believe you wished to be involved?”

 

And there it was. The olive branch, proffered tentatively but with the options of confirming plans. Greg jumped at the chance, he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth and if he was looking forward to the conversation with a little more than professional expectation? Well that could be his little secret. He did love a sexy voice after all. You could imagine so much just by hearing a voice. So cared if no one ever looked how they sounded? In their case it didn't exactly matter because he’d never see him to have the spell broken. Win, win situation really.

“It sounds like a plan. Seeing as you have my number you can call whenever you want. Doesn't matter what time, I’ll be available.”

 

“Until tomorrow then, goodnight Control.”

 

“Goodnight, Leia.”

 

Greg could only grin smugly as he heard the blustering argument at his goodbye before the line went silent. It had struck exactly as he had known it would. A point for him then. Laughing, Greg felt a wave of relief washing over him and his stress levels had reduced so much he almost felt positive. Grabbing his wine again he toasted the ceiling.

“Until tomorrow, princess!”


	6. Call the Cavalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a longer one this time, but I didn't have the heart to split it. Greg and Mycroft are getting better at working together and Mycroft has to call for help. Can Greg step up and show what he's made of? Is he as good as Charles hoped? Well I guess you'll see in a minute! Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Thanks as always to everyone who is reading and commenting and leaving Kudos, it's definitely motivation to keep going. Hugs as always to MyCitrusPocket who pretty much introduced me to the world of Mystrade and keeps me in check with my attempt to write it.

Chapter 6

Well, that had all gone spectacularly wrong. No actually the first part had been smooth and painless, now however? If he made it out of this in one piece, it was most likely going to be a miracle. Mycroft hunkered behind a low brick wall and wished there was someone other than himself he could blame for his current predicament, but there was none responsible but he. Before embarking upon this mission he had known something was going to go wrong, he’d attributed the feeling to the new situation with Control, but this? This was all him. The sections Control had been involved in had proceeded even smoother than he would have been able to arrange himself. Which only had Mycroft chastising himself more. Possible scenarios and plans were running through his mind, but glancing at his watch he knew that he was going to miss his flight out of the country. There was no way he could make it to the plane and escape. His presence had been marked and it would not be permitted to go unchallenged. In possession of sensitive information as he was, should he be located and captured the future would most likely be short and painful. Mycroft was low on time and even lower on resources, he had to do something. If escape was improbable he at least needed to find somewhere relatively safe to formulate a plan. Mycroft heard heavy booted feet on concrete close to his position and knew his time window was shrinking, he had to move and quickly. His eyes flicked around the nearby hulking buildings and the deep shadows they cast in the fading light. Assessing each one for potential and discarding them as quickly, until he spotted one that looked like a viable option, the likeliest candidate stood one hundred feet from his current position. Run down and nondescript, concrete and rusting metal, it was large and presented itself as empty and forgotten. As perfect a place as he could hope for to conceal his presence. Fighting back a sigh and the droop of his shoulders at the prospect of having to run through the open, risking being seen whilst being completely exposed. Mycroft was not positive, Murphy’s law was well at work and seemed determined to be the end of him, or at the very least mean his capture. He wasn't overly fond of what would follow that capture either, this was precisely why he hated working in this part of the world. Quick in and out job, yes of course it would be, no problems. Mycroft knew he should have argued to have the job transferred to one of the local specialists, but it had seemed a low risk operation suitable for testing the new partnership. It seemed everyone had been wrong and now Mycroft was suffering for it.

Daring to peer quickly over the crumbling bricks he hid behind, Mycroft assessed the situation and knew that there would likely be no better time than this to move. The longer he waited the more time it gave for reinforcements to arrive and increase the search for him. He didn't think he’d been identified they only knew that someone was here, not who. He’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.

With one last check of the area, Mycroft took his chances and sprang to his feet to run across the short distance as quickly and quietly as possible, hoping as he ran that as he suspected the warehouse door would not hinder him and slide easily in cooperation, not leaving him exposed for longer than necessary. Mycroft may have thanked the heavens when the door didn't put up too much of a fight when he reached it, nor did it squeal and announce his presence. As soon as he was inside Mycroft sought out higher ground. There was an office at one end of the space with a set of decidedly rickety stairs leading to it and gantries snaking out to run high above the ground, spanning the work floor. Not daring to wait too long he headed for the office, noting possible escape routes should they be required.

Once he’d managed to barricade himself in the small room, Mycroft took stock of the situation. He doubted it was going to blow over and he had most definitely now missed his planned exit. He was in an extremely precarious situation and he knew it. He was out of options for getting himself out, he was going to have to follow protocol and call Control.

 

Greg was anxious. No he was more than anxious, he was damn worried. There had been no word from the asset. The lack of contact wouldn't usually be a cause from a concern giving the stubborn nature of the man in question, but he’d had a phone call from the team waiting to pick him up. He hadn't arrived, they had waited as long as was possible without causing suspicion but still he hadn’t arrived. There’d been no new information since and the surveillance in place had picked up an increase in foot traffic in the area of the rather unfriendly kind. He was torn, while there was no official status update things just had that whole “shit hitting the fan” kind of feeling. 8 o’clock on a Friday night and he was at home, twitchy and restless. Before he realised, Greg’s twitches had increased from the tapping of fingernails on his kitchen table to the tapping of his feet on the wooden floor as he paced. Greg stopped in the middle of his front room, caught his own eyes in the mirror over the fire and nodded to himself before clenching his fists, screwing his face in anger and spitting out his frustration with a curl of his lips.

“Fuck it.”

He started to snatch up the things he’d need to take to the office with him; keys, phones, personal and work, laptop. At least at the office he’d have access to all the equipment he didn't have at the apartment. Just as he was spinning his last circle checking he had everything before leaving, Greg's work phone began to ring.

Mycroft sat low in a corner of the room behind a three legged wooden desk that lay on its side, concealing him nicely from the door. There wasn't much in the way of alternative places to seclude oneself, so Mycroft had to make use of what was available. Hoping the sound wouldn't echo around the space and preparing himself to muffle his tones he made the call. The voice that was becoming familiar to him and surprisingly brought hope to the situation came on the line, slightly breathless and his tone urgent.

“Asset one, status?”

“Good evening Control. I do hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“I have a feeling you disturbing me is going to be a frequent occurrence. Care to tell me why you missed your flight?”

“There may have been a complication.”

“What kind of complication? What the hell have you managed to get yourself into? Are you at least secure for the time being?”

Mycroft looked around once more, cocked his head and rolled it side to side in a timeless “ish” movement before rolling his eyes and choosing his words carefully, hating to admit that he was in need of assistance.

“The situation is precarious as best. Shall we say I have a sincere hope that your skills have not been exaggerated.”

Greg swiped his hand across his face, his palm barely clearing his mouth when he started to speak again. His mind was already whirring. Contingency plans he’d had prepared or even slightly formed running through his mind at breakneck speed. Scanning the details and discarding them with a shake of his head. He supposed when he’d been planning them he’d known he might someday have to use them but he had to admit he hadn't anticipated needing one quite this early on, definitely not on this supposedly walk in the park case for them to cut their teeth on their first time out as a team.

“Bloody hell. Then it’s two of us hoping I can get you out. I need your current location. What's the area looking like? I need as much information as you can give me, then I need you to keep your head down and let me do my thing.”

Greg listened intently, swearing up a storm in his head. Ok, the details. Greg was flying by the seat of his pants, with limited resources where he was. It was all going to have to come out of his head or the things he kept at home. He was alone on this one, no back up teams and no time to run his ideas by anyone else. Now was not the time to be doubting himself. Increased armed presence in the area? Check. Roadblocks limiting options for escape? Most likely being put in place if not already there. At least Greg was able to get an accurate location for the asset. What he wouldn't give for a security feed right about now. Just to get eyes in the area so he knew what he had to work around. With each new piece of information he settled more into the patterns he knew well. His jitters ceased and the familiar calm descended. He knew how to do this, while it wasn't an ideal situation at least he would have chance to prove himself. Greg realised that the small hint of joy that buzzed through him probably wasn't exactly appropriate, but what could he say? He enjoyed the challenge.

“Right. Asset, I'm going to have to get off the phone. I need you to stay where you are. Will you be safe enough there for an hour? I need some time to get things rolling.”

“What do I have if not time?”

“If your situation looks like it’s changing, call me. Not a question, just do it alright. If I need to make changes on the fly, I at least need to know about them.”

“Affirmative Control. I believe I will sit tight and await your plan.”

“Nice one, Give me the number of this phone so I can call you back as soon as things are in motion and let you know what’s going on.”

Mycroft recited the number twice, making sure that Control had it correctly. He refused for something so stupid as an incorrect number to be the cause of his death. 

“I will await your call with interest.”

“Yeah, OK, just like you said, sit tight. I’ll get this sorted and have you out of there in no time.”

They were both silent as the call concluded, both hoping his words were the truth, no goodbye, it seemed a little final and that might be testing fate a little too much. Greg allowed himself another minute to think, then dove through the apartment to the spare room he’d converted into an office. Going to the safe that had been kindly supplied by work, he quickly went through the opening sequence, hand print, retina scan, sixteen digit code. Trying to rush but knowing he had to get the steps right was almost painful, finally the door swung open and he reached for the files it contained.

Pulling out the stack of Papers he kept, Greg shouted with triumph when he found the perfect plan. Greg loved to make plans, he was prepared for everything. His files were separated by geography, containing all his local contacts and everything from possible ideas to full on plans. Greg had spent much of his spare time over the last ten years trading in favours and IOU’s, stockpiling them for the future and now was one of those times he was glad he prepared for the “what if” moments in life. Glancing at his watch, Greg was intimately aware of the time passing improbably quickly and the urgency that ate at him when he thought about the situation the asset was in. It was his job to get him safely out. Stuffing the rest of the files back in to the safe, waiting for the day they would be needed, he pushed the door closed and threw the selected file onto his desk. Wiggling his fingers as he allowed himself a moment to contemplate his plans and decisions, running through the flat Greg went to grab his laptop from the living room. Once he returned he hastily placed it on his desk next to the file he’d selected and hit the button and brought the thing back to life. Greg was extremely grateful he had only put it on standby when the screen quickly lit up. Securing a hard line connection and connecting the power supply, Greg sent a quick message to Charles. He let him know the bare bones about was happening, making sure not to give away too much, he still wanted to keep ownership of the mission. Seeing as the man knew everything anyway, he probably already knew, no doubt receiving a call just as he had done at the first signs of trouble, but it was unlikely Charles would take the job away from him. He’d been that insistent that the partnership work so far, but it was still good form to keep him informed. Taking a deep breath to steady the excitement and nerves in equal measure, he ran his finger along the name listed at the top of the file and dialled the emergency number.

It rang for a while but Greg knew it would be answered eventually and true enough it was, with a slow and heavy accent giving an abrupt greeting over the line. Greg didn't even try and stop the laugh that burst from him.

“How’s my crazy Russian these days? Long time no speak mate. How you doing?”

Greg knew he’d been identified as soon as a booming laugh joined his, life sparked into the conversation immediately. Genuine happiness at hearing his voice and anticipation of what the call could mean. Greg had flashes of vodka fuelled hangovers and nights not so much remembered in full but rather in snapshots he wouldn't have thought were memories if he hadn't endured the mornings after that went with them.

“Gregory? Brother! All is good my friend.”

“Life not too dull for you? Retirement suiting you? Taken up gardening yet?”

It wasn't so much a word that followed that but a disgruntled snort and series of noises, Alexis had never been one to sit idle but he’d been put out to pasture as far as active service went. He’d put his skills and money to good use and bought himself a helicopter and taken up freelance work instead. Whatever his age Alexis was still one of the best there had ever been.

“Ok then, I take it forced retirement not working out so well? You might like this then. I need to call in a favour.”

“Do you bring me fun games, Gregory? Your calls always precede the best of times.”

“Damn, you know me too well. I need to borrow your crazy skills and your helicopter.”

“I am intrigued already.”

“Got a bit of a tits up situation and need a quick smash and grab extraction. Not far over the border, but yeah fancy taking an illicit trip across enemy lines and doing a pick up?”

Greg could picture the expression that he knew would be a look of challenge and glee on Alexis’ face. If he didn't know better he’d swear the faint thumping noises he may or not be hearing were the sounds of a happy dance at the other end of the phone, but no the pilot with crazy skills who was a bear of a man would never do that. At least not in public and he’d never admit to it.

“Usual rules, Gregory?”

“Yep snatch and grab, no ID, no questions. If you're up for the job we’re gonna need a diversion. We need to draw some unwanted attention away from a certain area to clear it of X-rays. One man, holed up in a dodgy situation I’d like to get him out of and we don't have much time.”

“You knew I’d be in before you called. We both know this was just a formality. Send me coordinates and I know some people who can be our distraction.”

Greg had worked with Alexis in several occasions and over copious amounts of cliché vodka they’d formed a friendship that relied upon trust of the others ability and a willingness to help when required. While the money was a bonus they both knew it wasn't the be all and end all. Having an ally who would always be willing should you need a hand was far more important in their world. Trust was not something given easily for men like them but when it was, it became a thing of myth and legend. If you found someone you could rely on and they do the same in return? You held on with both hands and backed them all the way. Someday those people may be the only thing that stood between you and death. Your governments could not always be relied upon to support you in the same manner, so it was beneficial to have your own varied support network in place just in case.

 

“You trust them, I trust you. There'll only be one man at the pick-up point. Usual don’t ask questions don't identify him, yada yada, I know its teaching your grandmother to suck eggs right now, you know the drill Alexis, all the standard stuff. The man has no name and no face and we’d all like to keep it that way if possible. I’ll deposit the usual fee and a little bonus in your account.”

“Consider that payment enough, no need to call in one of your favours. Not when it's about time I got out there again.”

“I know you Alexis, you're not exactly short of work, but thank you. I need you to pick him up and haul ass to a field on friendly territory, drop him off there and we’re good as home. Thanks Alexis.”

“Go friend, we both have work to do.”

The glee in the Russians voice was evident. He truly did love his work, and if he said he’d arrange the diversion, all the better. It was one less job on Greg’s list.

 

 

Mycroft watched the clock; not the one on the wall of the office that hung upside down, its hands static and taunting, but the one on his phone. He’d deny if asked that he was watching the phone not for the time but waiting for the call he anxiously hoped would come quickly. He wasn’t used to relying on someone else and this was one hell of a time to be learning otherwise. He kept his attention on the street outside and the warehouse below, awaiting the inevitable bootsteps he knew would come eventually. This feeling was new and unnerving for a man so used to being in charge of his life. Mycroft fidgeted slightly, trying to get into a position that allowed a modicum of comfort as well as allowing him to move quickly when it was required. Settling in a crouch that had one knee and one foot against the dust covered floor, Mycroft tried not to breathe in the cloud of dust that his shifting had swirled into the air.

 

He could still hear shouts and calls from the street but as yet no one had approached his hiding place. Quicker than he had thought possible his phone vibrated in his hand. He didn’t even have chance to speak before Control was explaining what he needed Mycroft to do. 

“Ok, I’ve got the first part in play. There’ll be a diversion within the next thirty minutes, all foot traffic in your area will be drawn away, at least that’s what we hope but you may be required to avoid any that do remain. When the diversion goes live you will have to move quickly, I’ll need you to exit your current location and head one mile east where you will find a seven storey tower block. You need to be on the roof within the hour from now. Once you are on the roof a helicopter will arrive to collect you. You need to be quick Princess, he can’t land and there can’t be any delays, until we get you out of their air space you will both be vulnerable. From there you will fly for twenty minutes and you’ll be over the border. Sounding doable so far?”

 

Mycroft was stunned, that was the only word for it. Ten minutes, Control had only had ten minutes from initially being made aware of the problem and he already had this in place? If they could execute even a portion of the proposed plan it would be a miracle but even he could find no fault with the proposal thus far. Mycroft even let the nickname pass without comment, it seems a petty thing to be arguing now. He was also starting to recognise that the use of such terms was an indicator of Control’s confidence in a situation, if the man had relaxed enough to use the word then how could he fail to feel a little more positive that he was going to make it out of this in one piece. 

 

“Dare I ask how you have managed to act with such speed?”

 

“I told you, I’m not as incapable as you were so quick to believe. Let’s not count our chickens, but if I can get this in place in ten minutes, imagine what I could do if you let me. Watch for your diversion Asset, it’s coming quickly. I’ve got more plans to make. You know my number, use it alright? By the time you are in the air I’ll have the next part of your journey organised. Not too long and I’ll have you on home soil.”

Without doubt they were back to business, attention back on the job at hand and Mycroft was once more in his comfort zone. He could understand what was happening when things followed protocol he could understand and he definitely needed to focus on what was happening, couldn’t afford to be distracted. 

“Control? Thank you.”

“Still here. Don't go getting all emotional on me and thank me yet, we’ll not be free and clear for a little bit longer. Call me if our status changes, no excuses.”

The man on the phone was a quandary that was for sure, he’d said we. Not you, but we. He included himself in the situation, he saw this as something for the both of them to tackle. If he hadn't had so much on his mind, Mycroft was sure he would have thought on this for quite some time. He may even contemplate it later should he actually make it out of this in anything that resembled one piece.

Keeping as low as possible Mycroft worked his way across the dust covered floor, winding his way between upturned furniture, trying to avoid the bird droppings that dotted the floorboards and inching closer to the grime coated window pane that separated him from the danger outside. Not daring to clear a patch to allow a better view he hunched down to the left of the window, daring only to allow his eyes above the level of the sill. He could see small clusters of men, no longer searching but standing in groups talking, cigarettes dangling from mouths as they exhaled plumes of smoke that rose high into the cold air. No one paid any attention to the run down empty warehouse. Actually no one paid attention to anything, Mycroft fought a pang of irritation at their lax attitudes to their duties. Rolling his eyes at his own thoughts, the men were nothing to do with him and their inattention worked in his favour after all.

Mycroft watched and waited for half an hour, ever conscious of the time ticking by. When a text message appeared on the phone saying only one thing, his adrenaline spiked.

“Hold, move on obvious signal. Ready?”

Even as he read the message it was hard to ignore the explosion that rocked the foundations of his hiding place. A flash of orange and a ball of flame and black smoke rose into the air, the smoke curling around the flame as it roiled and danced skywards. He’d been expecting a diversion yes, but something quite that dramatic? No. He watched as chaos descended below, voices raised and men began to move, seemingly with no coordination but true enough they were all moving in the opposite direction to his escape route.

“Bravo, Control.”

Redistributing his weight to the balls of his feet Mycroft bounced in readiness as he counted in his head, allowing another minute to make sure they were most definitely out of his immediate vicinity. He calmed his breathing and found his centre. Follow your instructions and trust, he’s done what he said he would so far maybe quicker than Mycroft would have been able to put it together himself. The man really did seem to have excellent connections.

“Now or never, Mycroft.”

With speed Mycroft moved out of the office and down rusting stairs, cringing at the loud creaking and squealing protest as his weight hit them, but there wasn’t time to waste. Heading for an exit on the opposite side to the door he’d entered through, Mycroft was more cautious as he forced the door open. Prepared to incapacitate anyone he found still in the vicinity. With the space between almost identical warehouses empty and the only noises to be heard coming in with the breeze from the direction of the distraction, Mycroft stayed vigilant and made quick time towards his rendezvous point and freedom. The hard work had been done, all that remained for him to do was reach tower block that came into view as he quickly exited the industrial area and mingled with the late afternoon crowd that moved excitedly away from the sound of the explosion. Mycroft blended in with them seamlessly and allowed himself to travel at the same speed, careful not to make himself stand out in any way. He broke away from the crowd at the base of the building and entered, well used to gaining entrance to buildings where he technically had no right to be, Mycroft walked with purpose, his stride assured and strong. As he suspected he was not challenged, a man in a suit, in an office building who looked like he should belong rarely was. He might be a little dishevelled and dusty but with the confusion outside garnering most of the attention around him, his state went unnoticed. As he arrived at the bank of elevators that would whisk him to the roof Mycroft glanced at his phone. He was running on schedule and needed only to arrive on the roof and wait for his ride.

The roof access was alarmed and Mycroft dare not set it off too soon, having security arrive at his location before he managed to get out of this God forsaken city was the last thing he needed. Waiting by the closed door he listened closely for the familiar whoop noise of a helicopters rotor approaching. As the sound grew louder he waited to the last minute and broke the security connection on the door and ignoring the wailing of the alarm, he strode to the centre of the roof. Sure enough a black helicopter was fast approaching, a ladder descending from the rear cabin. As the helicopter swung around his position, Mycroft raised his arm to shield his face, both from the downdraft and to obscure his features, making identification improbably, an unnecessary precaution he was sure with the pilot having more things to worry about than the face of the man he was collecting, but it was a long ingrained instinct. When the ladder was close enough and the machine hovering above his position, he reached out and as soon as it came into range wrapped his arm around a rung, swinging his legs into action immediately, Mycroft scaled the swinging line swiftly. He was barely in the cab when the helicopter swung sideways and swooped steeply and quickly out over the city. With sure and practiced hands Mycroft secured the five point harness that would hold him to the seat. Not a terribly bad idea when he considered the seemingly reckless flying the pilot was undertaking and the open door to his side.

 

Greg collapsed back, letting the office chair tilt until he was nearly lying down and couldn't keep the smug grin off his face. Alexis had radioed through, package collected and heading for the boarder. No one seemed to have paid any undue attention to them, the explosive distraction serving its purpose perfectly. It had been slightly bigger than he’d have arranged himself, but that’s what happened if you gave the Russians a bit of wiggle room he supposed. Greg couldn’t say he regretted any of it, at the end of the day the asset was almost out of trouble. He resisted punching the air but he felt the same level of exhilaration. They’d pulled it off and Greg could hardly believe it. The Princess was currently in the air, the plan executed to perfection this far. He wouldn't speak it out loud because fate was a fickle mistress. The next time they landed it would only be to transfer him to a Land Rover that would then drive 200 miles. It wouldn't be the most comfortable or shortest journey for him, but it was a hell of a lot better than the alternative. Sacrifices had to be made in situations like this, but comfort was a lot easier to give up than your life. From there Greg would have money and a plane ticket waiting, all above board and the asset would fly back into the UK with the passport he carried. All nice and tidy, well it would be if he managed to get that bit all sorted. He might be quick but it still took time to get the rest in place and he’d yet to confirm that bit. At least now though things could be a little more fluid now that the Princess was out of immediate danger. Greg didn’t have long to sit and contemplate though, he still had a lot to do.   
Allowing himself a moment to breathe, Mycroft pressed his head back against the back of the seat and stared out of the open side of the craft. Once his breathing returned to normal, Mycroft took the time to look around him. The area he was in was unusual in that it was separated from the cockpit of the craft, two completely separate spaces divided by what appeared to be a reinforced wall, ingenious really and absolutely perfect for missions such as this. It appeared his Control was very well connected indeed. There was a headset attached to the seat opposite, he reached for it and slid it over his ears and manipulated the microphone so that it lay next to his lips.

“Excellent timing, Captain. You have my gratitude.”

“I’m sorry, the Captain isn’t available at the moment. Welcome to Save My Arse Airways. I’ll be your cabin crew this evening, on our flight from arse end of the world back to civilisation. Unfortunately in flight entertainment is limited to looking out of the window and in flight libations, if I know your pilot, most likely consist of a bottle of decent vodka somewhere in the back with you. ETA to destination two hours and fifteen minutes. Emergency exits can be found either side of you, the large gaping voids in the side of the helicopter should be pretty self explanatory. Should an emergency occur and exiting the aircraft becomes necessary, first place your head between your knees and kiss your arse goodbye. This concludes today’s safety message.” 

Despite himself and maybe because of the rush of endorphins rolling through him, the laughter so very foreign to him, burst from Mycroft’s chest unchecked. Relief poured through him, his muscles finally relaxing. Mycroft flexed his neck, rolling it side to side, fighting back the faint queasiness that washed over him, threatening to have him retching while Control could hear. That was not a humiliation he could handle right now, the day had been embarrassing enough already. He took deep breaths and steadied himself as the feeling gradually left.

“How can it possibly be that the man who just delivered that speech is also the man that managed to arrange all of this so quickly?”

“And there’s your quandary. Multitalented I guess. Now down to the boring stuff, when you arrive you’ll be deposited at an airfield near Oslo, bit of a change to what I had planned after that, but it should still work. A friend of mine will be leaving a car for you, a black BMW M6, nice car even if I do say so myself. I had planned to have a driver and Land Rover waiting and a bit of a bumpy journey but I’ve taken pity on your spine and need for anonymity. In the car you’ll find money, I don’t know what ID you’re travelling under, I assume you’ve got a passport with you? I don’t have any way of getting new ID made and to you right away, so you’re on your own with that or it’s going to take me a little more time. You’re choices from there are a long but comfortable drive back to the UK or make your way to the airport and use the money to get on a plane, you can thank me later. ”

“I believe I can thank you now. Thank you Control, for as you put it “saving my arse”.”

“Oh God, never say that to me again. It’s almost indecent.”

“Then I apologise once more.”

“Second thought, it could just be everything you say is indecent. Just ignore me.” 

Mycroft was reluctant for their conversation to end. He was pretty sure there was flirting happening, he might not be that experienced at the art of courting a beau but it definitely appeared to be the case. The banter, the laughter, the suggestive language, all pointed in that direction at least. He realised he wasn’t opposed to it at all actually and was quite enjoying himself. Whether it was sexually based and they shared a sexual preference was still undetermined but Mycroft’s interest was being piqued, there was no point trying to deny that. 

“I have to say the usual flight crew are a mite more pleasing to the eye.”

“Sir, I am offended” You have no idea what I look like, so how can you make the comparison?”

“Perhaps another time then.”

Greg, the man who always had something to say was speechless. For the first time in as long as he could remember he honestly had no response. He was used to being the one with all the talk, the one that teased and pushed the boundaries but that really did sound like a man open to suggestion. It was with not a little sadness that Greg had to remember who they were and what they did. When Greg spoke again Mycroft hoped it wasn't his imagination that gave the tones a wistful and resigned air. 

“If things were different, if we were different, who knows.”

There was a pause and silence filled the air between them, both just thinking of how things could have been. The lack of words said more than either of them could have. It was Greg who broke the contemplative mood, but when he did his voice had lost a little of its joviality. 

“I have to go finalise your plans if you’re going to make it back here eventually. Try and stay out of trouble for at least a little while, alright?”

Mycroft listened to the line go dead and the silence that followed. It appeared the time in the helicopter was going to be dangerous. Giving him time to think, mostly things that he shouldn’t be thinking about at all, but Control was correct. In another lifetime things could perhaps have been different, but they must put aside any such thoughts and possibilities and be the professional, highly trained men they were. People in their position did not have the luxury of forming relationships of any kind, they knew that signing up, there was no point wishing it was different now.


	7. Obligations have to be met.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little late I know, but this is my Christmas chapter. Greg and Mycroft are still getting to know each other, but things are getting a little easier between them. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> For MyCitrusPocket and every Mystrader out there. Much love xx

Things had settled between them into a fledgling partnership. They still had moments of tension, coming to loggerheads over suggestions made by each of them. It quickly became apparent that each of them had somewhat questionable ideas at times. Not that the suggestions they made weren’t well thought out, because they were. Quick calculations and weighing of odds taking place in frantic minds, with the same information though they often ended up in very different places.

“I swear to God, Princess, are you trying to kill me?”

There was a low growl at the end of the phone.

“Have we not discussed my opposition to that title?”

“Yeah, and when you’re acting like a fool I’ll use it, knowing exactly how much you don’t like it.”

“You’re dismissing my suggestions and yet you do not furnish me with another option!”

“Just give me a bloody minute. You spring this shit on me and then get testy when I don’t immediately have a super plan to save your arse.”

“You have set a precedence, Control. Not comes the time to as I believe they saying may be “step up or go home”.”

That was it for Greg, that voice saying those ridiculous words just about finished him and he dissolved into laughter. Full on body shaking, uncontrolled tears rolling laughter. Trying to speak between guffaws Greg struggled to get the words out.

“Never, I repeat never say that again, please I beg you.”

Mycroft wasn’t sure what was happening. Was he being laughed at? Or was this a rare occasion of sharing laughter? The affront he felt suggested he was being laughed at and it wasn’t a feeling he liked. He did, however, like the sound of the laughter that reverberated in his ear. It was a sound he would very much like to hear again, perhaps not at his expense the next time. It did break the tension though, Mycroft felt the situation diffusing even as Control descended into more controlled chuckles. He waited then, not sure where to go. The distraction was welcome, but it wasn’t exactly perfectly timed. With a cough and steadying breath he could almost picture the man trying to compose himself.

“Right OK. Where were we?”

“I’m not sure about the we, it is I who find myself in need of your unique brand of “rescue”, you remain in your ivory tower.”

“Well unique or not, at least you’re admitting I might have some use other than as a seat warmer over here.”

Mycroft could hear the unmistakable sounds of a large amount of typing being undertaken by forceful fingers on a keyboard. Sure key strikes in rapid fire sounds as they travelled to his ear. He could feel his mind starting to wonder about those hands, fingers that were so sure as they typed would surely be talented in other arenas. Mycroft snapped himself back from the very dangerous direction his thoughts had taken. His eyes darted around his surroundings, a God forsaken park in the middle of an innocuous city that gave no indication of the stress he was under. No matter what he was doing situations like this always set him on edge quite unlike anything else. 

“Oh and I think you may be mistaken. It’s princesses who get the ivory towers. Right now I appear to be the prince coming to the rescue of the damsel in distress.”

Mycroft grumbled again in response, a sound apparently he was going to be making quite often when it came to their conversations. There was a pause in the typing and he was almost startled from his thoughts when the voice returned.

“What names you got with you right now?”

Thinking quickly, Mycroft was tempted to lie. It was a ridiculous notion and counter-intuitive to the job at hand. He kept the majority of the names he travelled under secure and known only to himself, a hangover from years of relying upon his own wits for his safety. He should have known his choice this time was going cause him embarrassment. With a sigh he supplied the answer and waited.

“Jonty Scott-Thomas.”

There wasn’t an immediate response to that, absolutely not what he had expected so he waited a little longer. Sure that the name would cause a reaction at some point, maybe it just required more time to sink in. There was a part of Mycroft that was slightly put out, thinking that perhaps their conversation had not been as memorable to Control as it had been to him.

After a pregnant pause in which nothing was said, the typing resumed at its previously impressive rate, ending soon after with a final sure strike of what he supposed to be the return key.

“Ok from where you are, move north to the train station. You have five minutes before the next train to the airport leaves, get on it. I’ve managed to get you on a flight leaving in an hour and a half, upgraded to first class seeing as that’s all that they had left, but to be honest if I’d managed to get you in cattle class you’d best have been grateful.”

“I am indeed most grateful.”

Greg heard the sounds changing through the phone. The wind that whipped passed the mouthpiece picking up and he knew that Gandalf was walking. Greg still hadn’t settled on a name for him. Well no that wasn’t exactly true, in his head he couldn’t help it but the term “Princess” had kind of stuck with him. When he thought about him it was the name his mind supplied without hesitation. Greg refused to get stuck in that infinity loop of thoughts again. Even though he’d taken to including Greg more freely now and they were edging towards a tentative partnership, there were still moments between them that were tense. They were both trying though and Greg couldn’t fault that. Any other time and he would have felt at least a little self conscious using so much money on the situation. After all last minute first class plane tickets didn’t come cheap, especially under the current circumstances, but he basically had carte blanche when it came to the princess. So long as he had all the appropriate paperwork completed, there would be no questions asked. 

Greg wasn’t so sure why they were still on the phone, they didn’t really need to be. He’d done what the princess had asked and that could have been the end of it. He didn’t mind though, he was quite glad of the contact really and he couldn’t deny that the opportunity to listen to the voice on the end of the phone was not something he wanted to end too soon. A guilty and impractical pleasure though it may be, Greg wasn’t quite prepared to give up the little twinge of interest the tones promoted deep in his stomach. It was late and he was still at the office, alone as far as he knew. Anthea had popped her head in earlier to say goodbye and after that he hadn’t heard any other footsteps echoing in the corridors. Being as there were only three of them down here in the first place and he hadn’t seen Charles all day, it was probable he was the only one left with no place better to be.

“If you don’t move those feet a bit quicker, Princess, you’re going to miss your train.”

“I’ll thank you to keep your observations about my pace to yourself. I am moving at a sufficient pace so as to arrive with adequate time whilst not drawing unwanted attention to myself.”

“It’s eleven at night where you are, there can’t be that many people about.”

“All the more reason to not stand out.”

“Ah see, I knew there was a reason you were out there and I was nice and warm here in my cosy office.”

Greg looked around the office he’d occupied for a few months. Definitely his now, fully decorated and more than he ever imagined it could be. He eyed the sofa he’d been so deliciously right about as it’s sinfully comfortable cushions called to him. Glancing one last time at the ticket confirmation on his computer screen he got to his feet and gave in to the siren song from the other side of the room.

“Where are you going?”

“How do you know I’m going anywhere?”

“I heard you stand from your chair.”

Greg dropped onto the sofa with a slight puff of breath and a muted groan as the cushions yielded perfectly beneath him.

“Do you require some “private” time, Tom?”

Greg wasn’t half confused, his mind trying to work out what on earth he was on about. Who the hell was Tom? He wasn’t sure if he should answer or not, maybe he was talking to someone on the street, but then that didn’t sound right either. The ensuing silence seemed to affect them both, the length of dead air between them seemed to stretch until it edged well into uncomfortable.

“As you persist on informing me, you would prefer that we not continue to refer to each other as “Control” and “Asset”. I was merely seeking a name by which to address you.”

Mycroft cursed himself, he knew he was going to get that wrong. He should have waited, though when the correct time would present itself he didn’t know. He’d thought now was as good a time as any, he should have known he’d be wrong. Cultivating relationships of any sort weren’t really his forte.

“No, no I don’t mind at all. Sorry about that, I wasn’t sure if you were speaking to me or not.”

“Did you perchance conference someone else in on the call without me being aware?”

“Well no, I’m not even sure that would be possible. Why the hell is that name ringing a bell in my head? There’s some connection to something isn’t there? I should know and I’m missing it.”

Mycroft was constantly surprised by this man. Very few people had any insight into the connections between the things his mind linked together. Everything he was surrounded by linked to everything else in an unending series of perfectly logical connections. Well the links were logical to him, perhaps not so much to everyone else, something that had confused him as a child when people couldn’t follow his trains of thought. Now it was something he often relied upon, but here was a man he’d never met and apparently completely underestimated sensing that there was an association. Maybe he wouldn’t make the full leap to the correct answer, but to have even seen that there might be one in the first place was quite something indeed. Mycroft was snapped out of his reverie soon after.

“Hang on a minute! Shouldn’t you be Tom then?”

Mycroft gaped, his mouth opening and closing without words escaping. He’d made it, seen it and found the link, however random it had seemed.

“Surely I’d be ground control and you’d be Major Tom?”

Getting a hold of himself, Mycroft quickly found his tongue. Trying to sound nonchalant and unaffected he composed himself.

“If we are supposed to be being discreet, surely my referring to you as Ground Control would be counter intuitive?”

Greg was stunned, he really was. There was no other way to describe it. He managed to stutter out a few words.

“You know Bowie?”

“I think I’m offended by your tone, Tom. What century do you think I exist in may I ask?”

“Sorry, sorry. Just you? Bowie?”

“Are you quite alright? You appear to be having issues with your speech.”

With each tiny piece of information Greg learnt about the princess, the more he realised he could get on with this man. It was ridiculous really, each morsel made him want to know more about him and Greg knew that was dangerous. They shouldn’t know too much, shouldn’t really know anything. That was how this worked, at least how it was supposed to. It didn’t stop him wanting to though.

“Yeah, no I’m alright. I just pictured Bach and Beethoven rather than Bowie as more your style.”

“Well they do say you learn something new each day. I’m going to have to leave soon, I have almost reached the station.”

“No worries, do you need anything else?”

They were just drawing this out now, neither of them wanting to be the one to end the conversation. For two men who out of necessity lead almost solitary lives, moments of contact meant the most. Especially when with each exchange of words things became more and more intriguing.

“No, thank you. I believe you may have saved me from a flaying at the hands of my mother.”

“Mum?”

“Yes, mother. I have one, and as I am assured by my knowledge of biology that it is likely you do also. I did not spring from the cabbage patch one morning a fully formed person. I have been assured that my journey into the world was not quite that easy. Many times in fact, especially when something is being requested of me, especially when at short notice. ”

The gears in Greg’s head were whirring and putting pieces into place. Forming a more complete picture of what was going on and the puzzle would only fit together in one way.

“I think most of us do. Hang on a minute! Did you call me, on Christmas Eve, to get you back into the UK in a hurry so that you can go home for Christmas?”

Mycroft was kicking himself. He had known that staying on the phone for so long came with dangers. He hadn’t expected to blurt out the reason for his return, he’d hoped to pass it off as something at least work related. He was usually so careful. Normally he would have arranged things himself, he had tried to do so, but he’d hit brick wall after brick wall and in desperation had called Tom. There was definitely something about “Tom” that threatened his carefully formed cold detached persona. Without having to be coerced he had managed to reveal personal information. In itself not something major, but if he revealed that how long would it be until he actually did reveal something of importance. Mycroft didn’t necessarily want to return to a cool detached stance with the man on the phone. Much to his surprise he enjoyed their conversations and they grew in length now. Each time they spoke and lives were not in danger and situation permitting the calls got slightly longer. He was tentative when he spoke again, not so sure how best to react to his slip, concerned with the reaction it would get.

“If I were to say yes?”

“Then I’d say you’re a good son.”

“That is all?”

“Yep, that’s all.”

Mycroft watched as the train pulled to a stop ahead of him on the platform and knew that its arrival had been noted at the other end of the line. He could barely recall his journey to this point, so lost in the conversation that the distance had passed unnoticed. It really was a good job he wasn’t in physical danger, such distraction when the situation was critical could be disastrous. Luckily, he had been able for the first time in longer than he could remember, just enjoy the change to talk to a friendly voice. Mycroft wanted to respond, but he just didn’t know how. He was beaten to it when the voice in his ear was soft and full of a warmth that left Mycroft wanting something he knew he could never have. 

“You’d best go, your carriage awaits. Merry Christmas, Princess.”

“Thank you, for everything. Merry Christmas to you too, goodbye.”

Greg really hoped he didn’t imagine the tone that he heard with the last goodbye sent in his direction. He wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe there was a little bit of wistful breathlessness in the whispered words that came back to him in return. No argument, no blustering at the name nothing but what he hoped was a true hint of emotion.

“You’re welcome. Oh by the way, don’t think I’m not going to bring up the whole Jonty thing when we’ve got more time. You don’t get a pass on that one. Speak to you soon.”

Mycroft could hear the teasing tone and tried not to bristle against it. He supposed it really had been too much to hope that he’d let that one pass quite so easily. As he hung up he couldn’t disregard the warm laugh that joined his pained sigh as an end to their conversation. Stepping on to the train Mycroft moved to one of the few empty seats in the busy carriage. At least there would be a next time, which was something to look forwards to.


	8. Down time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without a current assignment, and left with time to himself; Mycroft struggles with the silence. But does he have to do it alone?
> 
> My thanks as always to MyCitrusPocket. I wrote this one while sick and oh my god you could tell! I blame the cold medication. Trust me when I say it was horrendous. Any faults that are there now are all mine. I hope you enjoy this next instalment on the eve of our collective panic and heartbreak. Because you know we're all so positive that everything is going to be fine!

Mycroft was in a contemplative mood as he busied around his apartment. Taking the time to unpack supplies and uncovering the furniture that had been sitting dormant while he’d been away. As busy as he tried to make himself, Mycroft found himself surprised to discover that he was actually rather lonely, for perhaps the first time he could recall he yearned for company. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually spoken to someone as himself rather than while he was existing under an assumed name. Not in length at least, not to question and discuss and debate. It was curious really, never before had he ever thought about his isolation to such a degree as he did now, sitting all alone in his Paris apartment. Why now did it even raise the questions in his mind? He had been happy as he was, not even considering that there might be a problem. He was a man who enjoyed his own company, rarely did he seek out others to share in his quiet seclusion. Mycroft knew that his own stubbornness was partly to blame for his predicament this time, he could easily have headed back to London when he’d been informed he had unexpected downtime. Waiting there was family, both his and Charles’, either of which would welcome him without hesitation, but he’d retreated. Fleeing to his Parisian oasis to gather his thoughts, for them to let him down and prove poor companions and of little comfort. For possibly the first time in his life Mycroft felt dissatisfied and ill at ease in his own company, an unfamiliar yearning for companionship seemed determined to have him pacing the floors and craving the sounds of other people around him. Striding to the nearest window that over looked the busy street below, Mycroft threw up the sash and stood with an arm braced either side of the frame. Remaining unnaturally still he looked down at the scene below. 

Eateries lined the street and people converged at open air tables to put the world to rights. Ever growing groups of friends and family gathered at small tables to wave arms, share wine and discuss whatever topic caught their attention. Mycroft watched as they interacted with such unabashed passion that he could only be envious. He closed his eyes and waited for the sounds of life being lived below to wash over him, allowing himself to focus on individual voices and conversations as he tried to soak in the sounds. As though in doing so, they would seep into his soul and fulfil the need inside him. Hoping that those overheard discussions could take the place of active conversation in which he was a willing participant. Despite the interest, it did little to soothe the restlessness he felt inside. Frustration snapped at him, retreating from the window he rolled his shirt cuffs to the elbows and moved to pour himself a measure of brandy. He knew better than to drink when his mind was as turbulent as this, he really did, yet he didn’t stop himself. With the filled glass swinging from his fingertips, Mycroft let himself drop into a chair. Whether he chose the chair nearest the window deliberately he didn’t know, but sitting back in the concealment the room’s shadows he gave in to the questions that formed in his mind. Clearly ignoring them wasn’t going to work much longer. That, however, didn’t mean he knew what to do about the situation.

Mycroft sat there long into the evening, he moved from his slumped position in the chair only once to select a record from his collection and set it on the turn table. Calm could often be found by immersing himself in the absolutely classic sounds of French jazz music from the 1920’s and 1930’s, arguably Paris’ golden age as far as Mycroft was concerned, tonight though? Not even Josephine Baker could soothe his troubled thoughts. Crossing the room and returning to his chair, Mycroft shuffled down the seat and tilted his head to rest against the back and looked at the ceiling. Lifting his right leg to cross it over his left he settled to watch the patterns of light caused by passing cars dance across the smooth surface above him. With the breeze catching at the light curtains and making them dance into the room and flutter at the edges of his vision, Mycroft allowed his thoughts to wonder as to the cause of his anxiety.

He was lost in his thoughts when he first heard the sound, an unfamiliar ping from somewhere in the room. A single noise, not threatening, but not easily located either. Lifting his head Mycroft scanned his surroundings, the only thing that caught his eye was his laptop open on the small dining table set near to the kitchen. Intrigued, Mycroft rose from the chair and padded barefoot across the rugs that covered the cold wooden floor. As he approached the table the sound rang again, this time leaving no doubt as to its origin. Reaching out his hand, Mycroft caught the top of the screen between his fingers and dragged it closer, spinning it and wincing slightly at the grating sound it made against the wooden surface. Leaning close, Mycroft stared at the glowing screen and a confused look passed quickly over his face. The programme that appeared was one he knew existed on the laptop, but the only person who had ever contacted him through it was Charles, and this was most definitely not Charles. Mixed emotions sprang into his mind. Disbelief, distrust, but there was also a twinge of excitement that had the voice in his head mocking him. Flashing on the screen in front of him was an incoming message.

Tom: Why is your laptop logged on? Have you got nothing better to do? You’re supposed to have time off! You’re supposed to be relaxing! 

Mycroft looked at the laptop as though it had suddenly grown legs and done a tap dance around the table right in front of him. He leant forwards, hands raised as though to type but at the last moment he backed away. He raised a hand to his mouth and stood staring at the screen not quite sure how to respond. Making several false starts, he reached for the keyboard only to pull back once more, repeating the action several times over. His actions frustrated him, his anxious mind and hands not quite sure how to proceed. He was completely and without doubt out of his comfort zone in every possible way. Before Mycroft realised he was moving, he had already taken a seat at the table and was staring at the screen. He glared at it, trying to work out the appropriate and correct response. Leaning forwards he began to write again, with a frustrated growl he deleted the words his mind spewed. In the end the decision was taken from him when another message appeared in the window.

Tom: Princess, you’ve been typing for 10 minutes now, you writing war and peace? A simple hello would have done.

1935623: Hello?

Tom: See, here’s me thinking I was going to be speaking to my delicate Princess instead I appear to have found a Borg designation or something, unit 1935623 reporting for duty?

Mycroft blushed and cringed, how was it possible he’d thought himself in need of actual human contact, when he only became increasingly embarrassed and unsure when he did? Taking a few deep and steady breaths, Mycroft forced himself to relax enough to think straight. Noting the relaxed and teasing tone of the messages he tried to emulate it, fearing that he would fail completely because this was not something he was good at, not at all. Spending a few minutes working his way around the settings Mycroft made a few changes, hoping while he did that he wasn’t making a mistake.

GreyWanderer: Does that change appease you? May I ask how you managed to find my contact name for this?

Tom: There you go! I knew I’d get you to come out and play! And you dared to mention my geek status?

GreyWanderer: At no point did I deny I may possess similar traits, I merely referenced your own.

Tom: Look at you with your fancy words. It's ok you know, you can be a geek and proud like me. Oh and I have ways and means of finding out most things.

GreyWanderer: Charles?

Tom: Skills, I'm telling you. Considerable skills.

GreyWanderer: Really?

Tom: Damn it! Fine. Yes, it was Charles.

GreyWanderer: I thought as much.

Tom: Look at you, stealing all my mystery. How am I supposed to impress you with my enigmatic personality if you already know everything?

GreyWanderer: Would it appease you to know the possible sources of you information was limited? Due to the fact he is the only one who knows how to contact me through this?

Tom: Maybe a little bit. It wasn't easy getting him to agree though, had to use my charm.

GreyWanderer: I have no doubt, I imagine lesser men have fallen victim to your whiles. There is no shame for Charles in succumbing to the inevitable.

Mycroft could hardly believe it, he may not be an expert in such manners but their conversation most definitely seemed to be leaning towards flirtatious. It was, however, completely plausible that he was reading far too much into the situation than was warranted. There were far too many variables and unknowns for Mycroft to make that assumption quite so soon, for all he knew this was the way the man spoke to everyone. He wished he had a baseline, something by which to compare the style of conversation and whether the patterns differed from the man’s usual. There was too much Mycroft didn't know and that made him ridiculously unsure of the protocol for advancing the conversation. If he acted without thinking, Mycroft knew with certainty that he could irreparably damage what progress they had made so far.

Tom: Ahh so if it’s inevitable, does that mean it’s only a matter of time until you fall under my spell as well?

Shock, that was what Mycroft felt, combined with a thrill that rushed through his body. There was no mistaking that question, or was there? If only he understood the damn rules! Was Tom alluding to matters professional or personal? What would happen if he picked the wrong choice? Mycroft could feel his frustration growing, angry at himself for his obvious failings in this department and it was not a feeling he enjoyed. The only course of action he could see was to steer the conversation back to topics that wouldn't put him in such a predicament, but he found himself loathed to walk away without perhaps making a small exploratory advance. Risking more than he cared to think about, Mycroft was careful with his words as he responded. He pondered every choice and allocated it much more significance than was truly warranted.

GreyWanderer: It is a possibility. I believe only time will answer that question.

Tom: Does that mean you’re going to keep me around?

Tom: Sorry I'm being pushy, I don't mean to. I'll change the subject. 

With that one statement, Mycroft knew he wasn't the only one who wasn't sure what he was doing. It appeared both of them were taking tentative and unsteady steps towards friendship, if not more, but that was hard to tell. Especially given their circumstances and the restrictions placed upon them by their unique situation. The very nature of their work demanded they be, if not alone, then very secretive with any partner. Emboldened by the discovery of their apparent shared uncertainty, Mycroft replied.

GreyWanderer: No. No it’s fine. I apologise for my seemingly uncooperative behaviour.

Tom: You’re doing fine. I did kind of spring this on you, so you get a free pass on that one.

Mycroft knew he had to ’up his game’ as it were. Behaving like some innocent was just not going to work for him, it wasn't what he was. That interacting with Tom turned him into an insecure bubbling idiot was just not acceptable for a man such as he, a man that relied upon his calm collected nature for his success and survival. Insecurities had no place here, but words? Well, words were his area. Surely he could relax enough to actually use them, and if he did who knew what things could happen?

GreyWanderer: Please excuse me for a moment, I shall return shortly.

Resolved, Mycroft pushed his seat back from the table and stood, rolling his head and stretching his neck to release the tension that had gathered, taking delight in the satisfying popping and cracking noises that seemed loud even to him. Striding quickly to the window Mycroft pulled the sash down, the noises from outside now no longer filling the emptiness he felt, instead they only served to distract him from the matter at hand. He heard a ping from the other side of the room that made him smile and perhaps put a little more speed into his step than there had been. Snagging his glass from the table by his chair, Mycroft refilled it and moved back to the table more prepared now to be himself, or at least a more confident version of himself. He knew that this situation was unique, normally he had to be very careful what information he revealed to other people. It wasn't as though he could glibly discuss his work with anyone, he’d be pretty poor at his job if he did. Tom though, well Tom knew what he did and understood their world and if nothing more than conversation between them was impossible, they could at least have this and Mycroft found that idea to have great appeal. Even if at the same time it did leave a niggling feeling in his stomach that hinted at wishing for things that couldn't be. Mycroft quashed that desire and returned to the dining table to take his place before the laptop. It was best not to dwell on what couldn't be and instead focus on what was happening right in front of him. Future disappointments shouldn't be allowed to diminish the enjoyment of what was currently happening. The smile on his face may have been small when he saw the message that waited blinking on the screen, but it had indeed returned and pushed the negative thoughts to the back of his mind.

Tom: Take your time, I've got all night. I'll just go and top up my glass while I wait.

GreyWanderer: I am back, have you sufficiently provisioned yourself for the continuation of our conversation?

Tom: Sorry, yep, one sec!

Tom: Ok I'm back! Just nearly knocked my glass of the table in my rush to respond, which would have been a catastrophe! But it’s all good now.

Mycroft felt the muscles in his face starting to ache and raising his fingertips to his cheeks, was struck by the fact that he was smiling again. Such a small thing really, for most people probably not something worth noticing, but Mycroft's life hadn’t really left him with much cause for smiling recently.

GreyWanderer: That would indeed have been a tragedy, though now we are both furnished with libations, where were we?

Tom: Not the faintest idea and I'm not going back to check so I'm going to start somewhere else. How was Christmas? Haven't had a chance to ask since.

GreyWanderer: My Mother was suitably appeased by my arrival as to avoid histrionics. Thus mostly managing to avoid declarations of my being an ungrateful son, who never comes to see his poor frail mother.

Tom: Sorry, I didn't know she was ill. I wouldn't have made fun if I'd known.

GreyWanderer: She isn't, fear not. She is as robust as you or I; however, she is not above using guilt as a weapon against her eldest son.

Tom: It’s your Mum, how bad could it be?

GreyWanderer: My mother and I are much alike, too alike one might say.

Tom: Ahh, I’m getting a picture now. I’m glad I could help. Somehow I can see you as a big brother.

GreyWanderer: Is that is a compliment or condemnation?

Tom: Compliment, definitely.

The longer they spoke, the easier the conversation flowed between them. Where there had been tension and unease at the beginning, gradually a relaxed and flowing conversation was struck up, words flying back and forth over the screens. Hours passed by without notice, laughter filled rooms as personalities were displayed through words on a screen as two people started to get to know each other. Indignant huffs and scoffs were vocalised to empty rooms during their debate on the best films, music and books. Opinions flowed back and forth, before they were forced to begrudgingly agree that the others taste in such things was actually pretty good. This didn’t change the fact that they would forever defend their personal favourites from what they saw as unwarranted criticism, even if said criticism was delivered in such a way as to be extremely convincing.

Mycroft introduced Greg to his favourite music and likewise in return and for a moment, both in their own worlds they sat in silence. Neither typing or moving, just listening to the same music. It wasn't lost on either Greg or Mycroft, just how much it struck a cord within them to share what seemed such an intimate thing. It didn’t even matter that they weren't actually in the same location. Glasses were refilled time and time again and their typing began to deteriorate along with it, but most importantly the conversation continued without lagging well into the night. It flowed easily until it greeted the weak morning light as the sun began to rise over their respective cities. Mycroft was startled when the first rays of sunlight started to creep through the window and around the room, at first his drink loosened mind not quite able to tally the amount of time that had passed in order for the sun to now be showing her face. He could feel his eyes starting to droop, but he was reluctant to step away from the most enjoyable evening he’d experienced in a very long time. The ping that signified a new message had long ago been disabled, the frequency of its ringing had quickly become more than a little annoying and as neither had left their seats for long an alert indicating the new message was hardly warranted.

Tom: Shit, Princess! When the hell did the sun come up?

GreyWanderer: For me or you? I do believe we have talked the night into submission and now the day creeps ever closer with its cold light to take away the safe anonymity the night provided.

Tom: How the fuck are you still spouting flowery poetry after we've been up all night? You really are something, Princess. What the hell are we doing though?

GreyWanderer: I'm not sure what we are doing, but I find I am not necessarily opposed to it.

Tom: It's not the smartest thing we could be doing.

GreyWanderer: And yet we do not stop.

Tom: Yeah, I've noticed that. I've enjoyed tonight, but I don't necessarily know where it leaves us.

GreyWanderer: I don’t know either. As enjoyable as this has been, and there is no doubting it has, greatly so, I do not know what it heralds for the future.

Tom: I should say it heralds nothing, because it can't. Not really. Can we just leave it as it is? Maybe we’ll do this again, maybe we won't, but can we just let it exist without ruining it?

GreyWanderer: Then we let the night exist as a memory, not diminished by the reality that would erode it. An aberration that stands outside of reality and is all the sweeter for it.

Tom: Exactly, I might never get the chance to say it again, Princess, but tonight has been unexpected and amazing. So before we ruin it I'm going to wish you goodnight and sweet dreams.

GreyWanderer: It has indeed. Goodnight Tom. 

Tom: Goodnight, Princess.

Mycroft watched the screen as the icon, proclaiming his conversational partner online, blinked out of existence and left him with an almost physical ache at its absence. He pushed the feeling aside as he closed the laptop, reluctant to lose the connection that had been forged through the darkness. With a smile that lifted one side of his lips, Mycroft patted the lid of the laptop twice before raising to his feet, and on legs that seemed a little unsteady made his way to bed. He hoped that when he woke later the whole event would not prove to have been nothing but a wonderful dream.


	9. Home Ground.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is somewhere he shouldn't be, and finds himself in need of help once again. 
> 
> I think this one was actually the first chapter I wrote for this one. Backwards I know, but after showing it to MyCitrusPocket she suggested I go for it. So what you've read thus far all happened because of this one. 
> 
> My thanks to everyone for the overwhelming response I've had to this story so far. You've been amazing!

The situation was grim. Mycroft might be on home ground, but that hadn't stopped everything going down the drain. Now he found himself injured, bleeding, in pain, and alone. He couldn't go to a hospital; he wasn't even supposed to be here. He should have been on the other side of the world, but he'd arrived of his own accord, telling no one and entering the country of birth under a name that was not his own. He’d done everything in his power to remain unnoticed; the plan had been to be in and out again before anyone had the chance to suspect he had even been here. He should have known eventually, even he would fall victim to his own arrogance.

 

With the danger he willingly exposed himself to with his work, he had never envisioned that the biggest threat to his life thus far would come in a filthy, dark alley in the back streets of London. Mycroft looked up just as the first drops of rain began to fall from the sky.

 

"Fucking perfect! Anything else you want to throw at me London? Is my blood not enough tribute for you?"

 

He took a moment to take stock of his injuries. Long laceration across the ribs on his right hand side; bruised, if not broken ribs on his left, luckily also on his left hand two dislocated fingers. Well perhaps not luckily but a little more fortunate at least to have his dominant hand in one piece. Whether he desired it or not, he could no longer deny he needed help. It pained him that he knew he had only one option, only one person he knew would help without questions. Mycroft wished he could make this call under better circumstances; he hadn’t wanted the next time he spoke to Tom to be under these conditions. Things had been different between them, intriguing and promising. He’d even dared imagine that he hadn’t been alone in his interpretation of their interactions.

 

Moving gingerly he reluctantly reached into his inside pocket. Every slight movement lit his torso on fire and caused him to grimace in pain trying to make as little noise as was possible. Despite a crack that ran across the screen, Mycroft was relieved when the phone still worked. Slowly he keyed in the number he would never forget. He waited, though not patiently, while it rang and he counted. Seven rings and he hung up. Trying not to move too much he settled as much as he could to wait for the phone to ring back. Mycroft deliberately hadn’t used the code for emergency, he wasn't quite ready to stoop to that, he retained some of his pride. He didn't have to wait long, it was only moments until it vibrated in his hand. Mycroft let it ring, in accordance with their quickly established code, he allowed it to go unanswered for fifteen seconds. The delay in answering was to let Tom know that he called of his own volition, and was able to talk freely.

 

As he answered the phone and moved it to his ear, the stretch across his ribs had him hissing in pain and it was the first sound Greg heard.

 

“Report, Princess.”

 

“Tom, I have warned you not to refer to me as such.”

 

There was no bite in Mycroft's words, an edge of fatigue yes. This was their ritual, the name changed occasionally, well it had before, though now he seemed to have inherited the dreaded title. It was their fledgling efforts at forming an amenable relationship. Mycroft might even be protesting a little too much as he honesty rather liked the bond that was beginning to form between them. It was something new and surprising and maybe a little too much wishful thinking on his part.

 

“And seeing as you won't give me anything else to use and you've vetoed every suggestion I've made, I'm cycling through them and working out which I like best and amusing myself in the process. Now what’s wrong? You haven't called for a chat. What do you need?”

 

Mycroft waited, knowing it was about to come. That tone of voice that he abhorred. But he'd come this far, he may as well humiliate himself further.

 

“I find myself in need of your help once more.”

 

There it was, he’d revealed himself once more and called for help. Asking for help didn’t come easily to him, not in the slightest and he expected to feel shame at having to do so. He frowned when it didn't come. Instead he felt relief and hope. With what he knew about Tom, Mycroft shouldn’t have been surprised when there was no argument to his call, but all the insecurities he buried seemed to come to the fore when he even thought about calling Tom. Mycroft listened to the muffled sounds in his ear, the rustling of fabric echoed over the line and he could imagine a phone being held against a shoulder. While he waited the familiar music of quick keystrokes followed soon after.

 

“Right, I'm logged in and secure. I don't have you out on assignment at the moment, what's wrong and where are you?”

 

“I find myself in need of medical attention.”

 

The voice on the phone transferred from genial to cold and detached, a voice he’d begun to recognise. This was work, and work took precedence over everything. Tom might like to joke but Mycroft couldn't deny the man was very good at what he did. Working with another asset he would have been superb, he seemed to thrive under the difficult conditions Mycroft seemed to create without even trying. While he was becoming used to the help Tom provided, it was still new and Mycroft remained unsure to what degree he could allow himself to rely on his support. He was sure of his help when it came to work and Tom had shown compassion to him when he’d called at Christmas, every encounter he’d had with the man suggested he would help, but still Mycroft doubted what he felt. He wasn't stupid, far from it(,) and he could see he was protesting too much. When it came down to the wire who had he called? He had called the one person he knew would help, and his call had been returned immediately despite the hour.

 

“What is your location? Let me see what contacts I have that I can get to you.”

 

“I am rather closer to home than you may realise. Currently I am sitting in a puddle of unidentified substances that I would largely like to ignore, in an alley not far from St. Paul's.”

 

“Jesus Princess! What the hell are you doing in London? I've had no flags that any of your aliases have arrived in the UK. Never mind, I don't want to know. How badly are you hurt? Do I need to get an ambulance to you?”

 

“No! No hospitals, no one can know I'm here. I am not in grave danger but the situation is less than ideal.”

 

“I can't keep it a secret that you're here. Not if you need help.”

 

“Please.”

 

Mycroft heard the man sigh over the phone, he wasn't oblivious to the desperation even he could hear in his voice. He understood the position he was placing Tom in, if he had been able to avoid this conversation he would have. By embroiling him in this he was undoubtedly leaving them both open to problems in the future.

 

“Ok, no emergency services, no hospitals. You aren't leaving me many choices here, Princess. Can you get a taxi? Are you in a state where that is an option?”

 

“I believe so. What do you have in mind?”

 

“You'll get in a cab, I’ll give you my address and you’ll come to me. It's not ideal I know, but you're just going to say no to everything else I would normally suggest. You sure you need to stay hidden? Is it that important that you can't get help?”

 

“It is imperative that my presence here goes unnoticed and undocumented. Do not fear, I am not doing anything that jeopardises other missions, nor is it illegal. It should not cause either of us open to reprimand. I believe I can get a taxi.”

 

Mycroft cringed at the little lie, he wasn't exactly sure how Charles would react should he learn any of this.

 

“Ok get a cab, come here, I’ll evaluate the situation and we’ll move from there. Don't fight me, I'm going above and beyond on this one and you know it.”

 

“Of which I am more than aware and extremely grateful.”

 

“I'm going to stay on the phone with you while you do this. Seeing as you haven't told me what’s wrong, I'm going to assume it means blood and I'm not having you pass out somewhere without me knowing about it. I'd have a job explaining that one to the bosses.”

 

“Charles is to know nothing about this.”

 

“Yeah, but when you disappear and they ask me what the hell was going on? I need to be able to tell them something. Or at least know where the hell to find your body so we've got something to bury.”

 

“Why thank you for the vote of confidence. I'm going to have to place the phone in my pocket if I am to rise from my rather disgusting position.”

 

“Put it on loudspeaker. I assume you are not at immediate risk from attack.”

 

“You assume correctly. Disregard any, shall we say animalistic noises you may hear in the next few moments.”

 

“Why you suave devil! Injured and flirting, nothing stops you, does it? The indestructible Gandalf. Hey will you come back as Gandalf the White?” 

 

“I had feared I was going to be stuck with Princess.”

 

“Well it's the main runner, but there's still time to change that if I feel like it.”

 

Mycroft didn't know whether to be outraged, stutter or laugh. He never quite knew how to take what Tom said, not knowing if what he said was complete jest or if  it concealed some truth.  He chose not to respond but could hear soft laughter as he slid the phone into his pocket. Strangely his conversation had managed to sidetrack him from the pain slightly. Though he was quickly reminded when he tried to place his hand on the ground, his shoulders hunching and muscles tensing as the dislocated fingers radiated pain up his arm. He may have groaned but the blood rushing in his ears effectively managed to dampen his hearing. Anticipating further pain he knew was going to come, he began to struggle to his feet. He had been in worse states over the years, but he'd taken a beating this time and everything seemed just a little more raw.

 

Greg tried to remain light hearted on the phone. He could hear the man in pain and knew that if he was vocalising that pain he must be in a pretty bad state. Right now he didn't need Greg mothering him, he needed him to take control and get him somewhere safe and deal with the problem. They’d made so much progress, talking until the sun came up. After that they’d been existing in limbo. With work commitments getting in the way they hadn’t had chance to even discuss that night. Neither of them had brought it up, but it had hovered around them. They’d danced around it, all the more prominent because they deliberately didn’t talk about it. It was the elephant in the room each time they spoke. When the grunting and groaning subsided into heavy breathing in his ear, Greg spoke again.

 

“Still with me, Princess?”

 

He tried to speak, he really did, but with his eyes squeezed shut and every ounce of focus he possessed going into remaining conscious and on his feet. The only thing that escaped his lips was a moan so deep and rumbling it surprised even him.

 

“Well hell man, you can't be making noises like that! I'm pretty sure I've only heard noises like that in a certain type of film, if you get my meaning?”

 

Mycroft didn't know what to do, he was not versed in the kind of banter. Was he serious? Or was this a method of distracting him? For a man so very confident in his world it was a discombobulating conundrum.

 

“Not answering me? That's ok, I can work with the silent type. Guessing you're on your feet. Come on get them moving, somehow I don't think they are going to find you where you are.”

 

Greg couldn't deny he was worried. Tom was a master of words. He kicked his arse every time they spoke; to hear him silent just didn't seem right. If it took unbalancing him with conversation Greg knew he wouldn’t expect, so not exactly professional to keep him going so be it. There was a little voice at the back of Greg’s mind though that whispered that he may have enjoyed the noises Princess was making just a little bit much and that he’d probably like to hear them again under different circumstances. Shaking his head to clear it, Greg managed to get his attention back to the injured man on the phone. He could hear heavy slow steps, a dragging noise seemed to follow one of them and Greg tried to work out just how many injuries he might have. It didn’t sound great though.

 

“You at the main road yet? Which side is the Cathedral on? Do you look presentable enough for a taxi to stop for you? Are you hailing a cab yet? “

 

“Yes. Left. Always, and I am.”

 

Heavy breathing with a chuff at the beginning of each exhale followed the little impassioned outburst. Greg heard a car pull up and was listening to the noises in the background. He heard a car door open and the steps of a man trying to hide his condition slowly getting in. Princess spoke in his ear making him jump a bit.

 

“Where should I tell the driver to take me?”

 

Greg rattled off his address and listened to it being repeated to the driver. He heard the engine rev and move off.

 

“Do you want me to stay on the phone until you get here? Or can I go and sort out the stuff I need to put you back together?”

 

Mycroft looked down at the hand he had pressed to his side, it was sticky and when he pulled it away the street light shining through the taxi windows highlighted the blood that covered his skin.

 

“It may be wisest to procure and make available the supplies.”

 

“I hear you, I’ll watch for your taxi, I’ll come down and get you. You’re going to have to do stairs but it’s unavoidable and I’ll help.”

 

“If I failed to say it before now, and should I fail to say so again. Please know I am thankful for all that you are doing.”

 

“Don’t get soft on me now. We’ve still got work to do and I have a feeling you’re going to hate me when we’re done. You’ve got about twenty minutes in the cab at this time of night, I’ll see you soon. Oh, do you have money for the driver?”

 

Mycroft felt strange, not just because of the effects of blood loss. This strange feeling of having someone taking care of him, Tom sounded genuinely concerned. There was a softness to his voice that suggested more than a business like tone.  He didn’t quite know what to do with the feeling, so he would do what he always did and file away the things he couldn’t understand.

 

“I have sufficient funds.”

 

“OK then, I’ll see you soon. Any change and call me so I know what I’m looking at. OK? Still with me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good.”

 

With that the line went dead. Mycroft tried to settle, but every pothole, raised grid or speed bump the taxi hit his whole body tensed. With his eyes rolling he gritted his teeth and tried to breathe through the pain. He hoped the journey went quickly, but he had the feeling that no matter how speedy the trip, it just wouldn’t be quick enough for him.


	10. Painkillers and Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Afternoon Folks! So yep back with another chapter. If there are any mistakes in this one you'll have to forgive me, real life got in the way unfortunately and the only way to get this up today is to post it as it is. It was beta'd by the ever wonderful MyCitrusPocket and then I just *had* to go in and mess with it at the last minute. So chances are I've managed to undo all her brilliant work. 
> 
> Ok yesterday I got an awesome message! I've got fanart! People, my story inspired someone to make ART! Rykoe you are an absolute star because it's brilliant. Really people you need to go look. I've put the link below (with permission) she's amazing and it's perfect! Thank you so very, very much. 
> 
>  
> 
> http://rykoe.deviantart.com/art/End-of-the-Line-Mystrade-Fic-Illustration-429017262

Greg waited nervously by the window, he held the curtain aside and watching for sign of a taxi appearing on his road. While he waited he tracked the progress of drops of rain as they raced down the windowpane, almost glowing as they caught the light from outside.  As distracted as he was, the glare of headlights reached his eyes and he spotted the familiar shape of a black cab turning onto the street. Taking one last look at the supplies he’d laid out on the coffee table and hoping he hadn’t overreacted, Greg shot out of his front door. Taking the stairs two at a time he arrived at the front door before the cab had even drawn to a stop outside his building.

When the rear door of the car was opened and slowly pushed wide, Greg caught his first glimpse of the occupant. He watched as the man seemed to almost fall from the rear of the taxi, only catching himself with a hand on the top of the open door at the last minute. Greg saw the man freeze rigid as whatever pain that movement had caused, it had hurt a lot. Greg automatically dove forwards; there was no doubting that this was the man he’d been waiting for. What were the odds of there being two injured men turning up on his doorstep in one night? Before Greg made it to the kerb the man held out a hand to stop Greg in his tracks. He did stop, but it went against every instinct he had. Hell, the man was almost bent double, hunched in on himself and in an obviously considerable amount of pain, even more so than Greg had anticipated following the call. Still beyond the reaches of the pool of light supplied by the street lamp, Greg watched as the silhouette of the man he knew as Princess steeled himself. How on earth he’d managed to get himself off the ground in the state he was in, Greg wasn’t sure, but it was quite frankly astonishing. Greg watched as he released his hold on the door and swung it shut with a bang, as soon as it was closed the taxi drove off leaving them alone in the empty street. Then they just stood there, neither moving on either side of the orange circle of light on the pavement, cast down from the lamp above them.

The rain continued to fall steadily, quickly sinking into both of their clothes and soaking them through. Greg ran his hand over his face, rubbing away the water that was now dripping from the hair that hung limply against his forehead and into his eyes, so he could maintain his view of the man opposite him.  
  
Reluctantly, the injured man started to move towards him, his steps no more than a slow shuffle. Through the curtain of raindrops that separated them Greg watched him move closer. When finally he stepped into the circle of light, Greg, without realising had edged forwards so that he now stood halfway between him and the doorway to his building. Just watching him struggle was forcing Greg to fight the urge to reject the man’s pride and go to his help. When he stumbled slightly and Greg heard the stifled moan of pain that was bitten off abruptly, he reached his limit for tolerating bullshit. Sod his damaged pride, he needed help and Greg wasn't the kind of man to just stand by and watch someone hurt when he could do something about it.

Hurrying to his left side, Greg slowly and gently lifted the injured mans arm to settle it over his shoulders and take some of his weight, wincing as he briefly caught sight of several fingers that were most definitely standing out at painfully wrong angles. Greg had to put aside the muffled whimpers that came with each breath the man took and focus on the matter at hand, putting his other arm around his waist Greg helped to half carry him towards his home one painfully slow step at a time. He didn’t realise it but as they made their way he uttered calming shushing noises as they went, the full force of the caring side of his nature taking the forefront.

  
It took a painful and wet five minutes to cross even the short distance that took them from the cold night and through the main door into the warmth and brightness of the communal hallway. Greg had been so distracted by the task at hand it wasn’t until the harsh lighting made him blink that he even had time to look at the man he knew as Princess. It dawned on him that he was seeing the man he was never supposed to meet. The man who was supposed to be nothing more than a voice on the phone, was now leaning heavily against the wall opposite him, doing his best to stay on his feet even as he swayed unsteadily. Greg let him stay like that for a moment and just looked at him as he tried to prepare himself for what lay ahead.    
  
“Ginger? Jesus?”

Greg couldn’t help it, he’d felt attraction when all he’d had was a voice on the phone. Now though, beneath a layer of blood and grime hunched a man that held all of Greg’s attention. He felt the stirrings of feelings that had been still for a long time. He knew now wasn’t really the time to be thinking about the images that sprung to his mind, but Greg couldn’t fight the flashing images of antics that would leave them breathless for reasons other than injury. He shook his head to try and clear his mind, there were other things that needed his attention right now.   
  
“Pretty sure Jesus would have been a brunette, but I appreciate the sentiment.”  
  
“How are you still cracking jokes? No never mind it doesn’t matter.” 

Greg looked from the man to the stairs and back again. It might only be thirteen stairs but it might as well be a hundred the way he looked right now.   
  
“How the hell are we going to do this, Princess?”  
  
Eyes surrounded by pained lines looked from the floor and met Greg’s. If his heart stuttered slightly with promise, it wasn’t exactly the time to think about it and he wasn’t about to admit it. In the back of his mind, behind the attraction was the niggling reminder that they were never supposed to have this. Never supposed to meet and that should the powers that be ever find out it would probably mean the end of their partnership if not Greg’s career completely. It was the only rule that had been explicitly spelled out to him and here he was disregarding it entirely. Maybe this wasn’t the way it was supposed to go, things rarely progressed in the way they should. None of it changed the fact that attraction or not, against the rules or not, in front of him was a man who’d come to him for help and he had to focus on that right now because he clearly needed it. He didn’t have time to be disappearing into his head and mooning over the situation.   
  
“Going to have to do it myself.”  
  
“I know we’ve not got much choice, the way you're walking I'm guessing you're not up to being put in a fireman’s lift and carried up.”  
  
Mycroft took stock, cataloguing the most persistent pains that made themselves known.  Nope, his ribs definitely wouldn't be up to that and he shook his head slightly to indicate as such.

“I’m a little unsteady on my feet, if I go first would you be agreeable to following and making sure I don’t fall back down?”

Greg nodded his assent, raised his arm to indicate Mycroft should move when he was ready and waited. It didn’t take long but Greg watched as he took several breaths before trying to lever himself to stand unsteadily on his feet without the support of the wall at his back. Moving to stand at his back, Greg watched and waited for him to start the arduous and no doubt lengthy task of making their way to his flat and the medical supplies that waited for them there.

Mycroft made it up two stairs before he had to stop, gasping with the pain. Who knew the time he’d been still in the taxi would make him seize up quite so much? How was it that every time he got injured as soon as it was over he managed to completely forget about it? He carried enough scars that the earning of them, and the pain involved, should have been ingrained in his mind. He held the banister in his right hand, his fingers curling around it painfully but securely as he used it to anchor him. When he wavered slightly, almost unbalancing completely, he felt a pair of warm hands settle on his waist and steady him. 

“Come on Princess, we get up these stairs and there’s a sofa and pain killers waiting for you.”

Mycroft groaned, he knew he had to move, but he couldn’t stay on the stairs indefinitely. His feet though didn’t seem to be getting the message.

“Can’t.”

“Yeah you can, you’re not the kind of guy to give up.”

Mycroft growled back at Greg, but he did start to lift his foot to the next step. His words were hissed through gritted teeth but he did manage to get himself up another step.

“How do you know?”

“Me? Well, Princess, I know lots of things.”

“Not… everything.”

Greg wasn’t pushy, but he was insistent as he kept a hold of the man in front of him. He even tried his hardest not to get completely lost staring at the lovely arse that hobbled its way upstairs before him. If his fingers flexed against the waist they held, and if his thumbs stroked rather than gripped firmly a time or two? Well that was completely out of his control.

“Give me time, Princess. I can be persuasive.”

“I had noticed.”

It took a long time for them to struggle up the flight of stairs, and by the time they reached the top step and finally made it to the door to Greg’s flat, there were swear words flowing and beads of sweat dripping down strained features. Mycroft looked like he was about to pass out and Greg knew he was running out of time to get him somewhere where he wouldn’t damage himself further when he did lose consciousness.   
  
It was much quicker getting Mycroft to move along a flat even surface and Greg managed to get him into the sitting room and to the sofa sooner than he’d even hoped. It took a lot of Greg’s strength to lower him to the cushions as slowly as possible; he couldn’t just let him fall where he was, though from the look of him he couldn’t make the pain worse. Once he’d managed to get him seated, Greg took a moment to try and evaluate the situation and locate the worst of the damage. In the light of the room with him laying back against the cushions, Greg could finally get a look at what he had to deal with. The layer of blood and grime that covered him was especially off putting and not exactly the best thing when trying to keep open wounds clean. The muck that covered him made it difficult to see just what was going on, layers of wet cloth obscured most of it from his view. Unfortunately it didn’t hide the large bloodstain that grew on his shirt right before Greg’s eyes. 

Greg started down at him and felt just a little bit out of his depth. His princess was almost delirious now they’d managed to get him here. Shit, when did he become “his”? He really needed to get a grip of himself. There was no way he could help him with as many clothes on as he did, but he just couldn’t see a way to get him out of them without causing him excruciating pain. Greg almost groaned out loud, he might not know much about fashion but even he could tell the impeccable cut of an expensive suit when he saw one.

“How attached to these clothes are you? I need to see what you've got going on.”

Mycroft knew he was vulnerable right now, knew and didn’t care. He didn’t feel in danger, beyond what he was already in at least. He could feel the familiar stickiness of blood covering him and he was repulsed by it, but he just couldn’t bring himself to move and do anything about it. He was weak as a child and had retreated so far into his head that he was barely aware of his surroundings. It was not something he should allow, but he couldn’t fight it anymore. He tried to open his eyes when he heard the familiar voice break through to his pain clouded mind. It took him a moment to work out that he’d been asked a question and seemed to take far more energy than it should to answer.

“Ruined anyway.” 

Looking between the man covering his sofa in all kinds of grime and the medical supplies on the table, Greg knew that what he was going to have to do would be painful. First port of call would be pain killers. He definitely needed those, Greg just had to get him aware enough to take them. Greg was grateful he had some left over from the operation on his knee, they’d had had him flying and they should do the job nicely. If they didn’t completely eliminate the pain then at least they’d dull it to a level where he might at least be able to take away some of the obvious discomfort he was feeling before Greg got to work and made it worse.

Shaking a pill from the bottle, Greg scrunched his face up took another look at the man on the sofa and with a shake of his head added another one. Running quickly to the kitchen he filled a mug with water and brought it back to the sitting room.  

“Princess, open those pretty blues for me. I need you to take these.”

 He cracked one eye open and Greg could tell he wasn’t exactly lucid as he looked back.

“Wha… is… it?”

“Pain killers, going to make this a bit easier. They’re good, should help a bit while I do this. You’ve just got to take them first.”

Holding out the mug he pressed it into Mycroft’s hand, he quickly realised that wasn’t going to work when he couldn’t get him to hold the handle, never mind lift the mug to his mouth. Greg knelt on the sofa, carefully, trying not to disturb the still man too much.

“Come on, I’ll help but you have to work with me. Open up, as soon as you take these we can get you sorted.”

He didn’t get an answer but Mycroft did open his mouth as requested. Popping the pills on his tongue, Greg cradled the back of his head, lifting it so that he could bring the cup to his lips and help him drink. Greg watched his throat move and waited to make sure he didn’t start to choke. Once he was certain the pills were gone and he wasn’t going to choke, he guided Mycroft’s head back to the cushions. He made sure it was supported by the soft leather, lingering a moment before he slid his hand away. Greg’s fingers combed through his damp hair as he pulled away, the strands sliding through his fingers and tickling at his palms. Putting aside the questions that popped into his head that wondered how it would feel to do that when it was dry, and how would his hair look not completely soaking wet? Greg stood again and putting the cup on the coffee table stepped away. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen he leant against the door jam and watched the man barely breathing, just shallow, slow breaths that didn’t make his chest move much. Small enough that Greg hoped it was just his imagination that had him seeing missed breaths.

It was difficult. Trying to put together the man he knew on the phone, with what he saw now. The stubborn, set in his ways man who through sheer obstinacy seemed to want to argue just for the sake of it, seemed so completely at odds with the vulnerable almost unconscious man currently dominating his sofa. Greg looked at his watch, a few more minutes and he’d have to disturb him and he knew it wasn’t going to be pretty, not by a long shot. Greg looked down and realised he was still soaked through and starting to shiver, he really needed to get changed into something warm. He wasn’t going to be much use if his hands were shaking.

In his bedroom Greg pulled clothes from his wardrobe, with a t-shirt in one hand and a jumper in the other he eyed them up before throwing them both onto the bed. He wished he had time for a shower, but leaving his guest alone for so long didn’t seem like a great idea. Stripping the wet clothes from his body, Greg fought to drag the wet jeans down his calves hopping unsteadily on one leg when it got caught on his foot and nearly ending up in a heap on the floor. Finally he managed to get changed into warm clothes; he thought about Mycroft and hastily grabbed some of his sweat pants and a warm flannel shirt. Not knowing if he’d be able to get clothes onto him after he’d patched him up the best he could, Greg also grabbed the blanket off the end of his bed and tucked it under his arm with the rest of his load. As prepared as he was going to get, he headed back to the front room. The pills should start to kick in soon and he had work to do. 


	11. Meltdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks, so sorry for the missed post last week. I was in London last weekend and getting all sorted for that dominated my time. Please forgive me? 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's a direct continuation of the last one. Thank you so much for the continued astonishing response to this story, it's blowing my mind. Thank you for every read, comment and kudos, each one give me the most amazing feeling and keeps me wanting to carry on. 
> 
> As always I can't say thank you enough to MyCitrus pocket for her help with the editing and putting up with everything I get wrong when I'm writing, but mostly for being a truly awesome friend. Much love from me Gumbie xx

*********************************

Mycroft couldn’t think. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t get his mind to make the connections that would turn the fragmented ideas that tumbled around his head, into anything resembling coherent thought. Getting up the stairs had been much worse than he had anticipated; using up every ounce of strength and determination he possessed, and quite probably even more still. His body continued to shake from the amount of effort it had taken, his muscles screaming from the exertion. Mycroft knew with how exhausted he felt, he’d probably gone beyond the point of no return. He was out of reserves and running on empty, the crash was coming and quickly, but at least he was still going for the time being.

 

When Mycroft had made the choice to make the phone call, he had known it would mean trusting someone else with his wellbeing. With all the progress he had made in these few short months, it was still difficult for a man like he to admit he couldn’t do everything on his own, but he was not so stubborn as to avoid help when he required it. Not anymore at least. So now he found himself at another’s mercy, having got himself here, albeit with help, now he had to rely on Tom to guard and take care of him.  Through the haze of everything else the only thing that did seem to penetrate the haze around his mind, was that he was ok with that. He was at his most vulnerable, injured, in a considerable amount of pain and bleeding out; yet he felt surrounded and safe.

 

Staying perfectly still, Mycroft tried to breathe through the worst of it, letting the waves of pain that racked through him settle somewhat. Not quite to the point where he could forget it, though enough to at least clear his mind a little. Though his breathing was necessarily shallow, it was deep enough for him to catch the warm and reassuring smells around him. Mycroft didn’t know if it was hope, a flight of fancy or even just blood loss that lulled him into this sense of serenity, but he welcomed it all the same.

 

He was drifting in and out of consciousness. Time slipped away from him as he alternated between overwhelming fatigue and pain, and the momentary relief of oblivion. He tried to fight it, really he did, but he wanted to let it take him. It was that voice, the one so familiar to him that he held on to; the one he looked forward to hearing, which kept him flirting with consciousness and present. A voice that was soft on his ears, but still demanding as it ordered him to open his eyes and take the pills he was being offered. Mycroft tried to move, tried to coordinate his rebelling muscles, but they were annoyingly reluctant. He could feel the anger and frustration growing as he failed to manage such a simple task as holding a cup when asked. How had he managed to become so weak? He was furious with himself, he had known this would happen. Allowing himself to become reliant on another had lessened him, it was all a mistake. As much as he wanted, as much as he craved, he was in no position to allow it.

 

Lost amongst the battle taking place in his mind, Mycroft was slow to respond. He forced his eyes open, they wouldn’t focus and the images swam in and out. One moment everything was blurred beyond comprehension and the next startlingly clear. No matter which though, his view was dominated by a concerned face. A face he shouldn’t be seeing, and yet at the same time knew there was no face he would rather be looking at. A strong hand cradled his head and held its weight for him. Capable and warm, he could feel the heat soaking into his chilled skin and wanted to bury closer to it, surround himself in it and not worry about anything else.

 

Mycroft recalled questions being asked. Was aware he provided responses, but if asked to recount his words he would have struggled. Sooner than he wished, Mycroft felt the absence of the other man’s presence. He knew it was ridiculous, though it didn’t stop him feeling fear. His addled mind equating the loss now with events from the past, unwelcome memories brought about in his vulnerable state. He tried to rationalise it all, forcibly putting aside the traitorous emotions that threatened to break free of their cage. He had no time for such destructive and weakening feelings. He allowed his anger to rise. He was no longer the child he had been, he was not weak. He would not become anything close to that again. He had no choice, he must leave. Coming here had been a mistake, an indulgence he could not, and would not permit again. Taking stock of the injuries that held him at their mercy, Mycroft separated them into things needing to be dealt with now, and things that he could remedy later. His hand throbbed incessantly, reminding him of its abused state, fixing it was going to hurt like hell, but his fingers would be the quickest to rectify. Trying to centre himself and ignoring the pain, Mycroft brought his hands together and clasping the two digits that were wildly out of alignment, took a breath and held it. Counting down from three in his head, he squeezed tightly and pulled them. Snapping them back into place he let out a groan, his face set and his jaw clenching against the new agonising wave. He held the shout that threatened to escape lodged in the back of his throat as stars burst behind his eyes and his blood thundered in his ears. He was light headed and his mouth began to water as the sudden increase in pain made his stomach roll and rebel.

 

Mycroft used the pain. He understood it and could draw upon it to make his body his own once more. Testing the digits now returned to their rightful place, he tested their movement. The pain was still there, but it was no longer as all encompassing as it had been. He was grateful for the pills Tom had given him and only hoped that as they continued to take effect he would be able to get himself somewhere suitable. Somewhere he should have gone anyway. Never here, it should never have been here. Time was running out, he wouldn’t have long until his host returned and he wanted to leave before then.

 

Had he been able to think clearly, Mycroft would have known how impossible the task he’d set himself was. He would have been the first to call another in his position a fool, but he was acting on instinct. Reactions he had been schooled in his entire career. Retreat and regroup, no matter your state. To survive you must remove yourself to a secure and isolated location, patch your wounds. Survive. That was the only thing he had to do, all his actions must now lead to that one goal. He had to do what had been drilled into him, fall back on the training and trust that the actions that should be second in nature only to breathing would be his salvation. No distractions, no fanciful notions.

 

Pulling the fragmented parts of himself together, Mycroft forced down the pain and began to move. Without making too much noise, he managed to get himself to the edge of the sofa cushions. Hesitating only briefly he planted his hands either side of him on the seat. The fingers on his left hand screamed in protest, the newly aggravated injury protested enough to roll his eyes and have him biting his tongue to quell any noise he would have made.

 

He was making to push himself to standing once more when he heard quick footsteps and then, closer than his senses should have allowed, the traitorously comforting voice was back.

 

“Princess, what the fuck are you doing? Have you lost your damn mind?”

 

Mycroft wouldn’t let it stop him, he had to do this. He’d made the wrong decision and now he had to make the right one.

 

“Shouldn’t... have come. Need to leave.”

 

A hand dropped to his shoulder, there was no weight behind it and Mycroft felt shame that even the lightest touch seemed to anchor him in place.

 

“Like hell you do! Where are you going to go, Princess? If you had anywhere else to go, you would have done. Don’t be stupid.”

 

Mycroft tried to push against the hand that held him down. In the same breath his mind fought itself. Roaring instructions that he take action against the man that kept him immobile, whilst at the same time demanding that he do him no harm. Each demand counteracted the other to the point where he was left unmoving and completely at odds with himself.

 

“Look, let me clean you up and see if I can sort out some of your injuries. Get some rest, and then if you’re in a fit state to go? I won’t stop you. Just let me help. You called me, you asked for help, so let me give it. No strings attached. You can’t leave like this, Princess. You’ll end up dead, in hospital where you said you couldn’t go, or the police will pick you up. Just let me do this, alright? It’s no different than me getting you picked up by helicopter, or getting you home for Christmas.”

 

Mycroft could feel his resolve crumbling with each word that was spoken. The resolve that he thought he’d cemented gave way to doubt.

 

“Never supposed to see you.”

 

“When we’re done, we’ll pretend we never did. Alright?”

 

Greg could feel him relaxing and knew his words were at least getting through. The man was in no state to leave, he was delirious. There was no way Greg could allow him to even try and get out of the door. He was in a worse state now than he had been when he’d arrived. Who knew what kind of problems he’d have if he persisted in going. Greg knew if he really wanted to, at whatever cost, he would push himself to deaths door in order to fulfil whatever stupid ideas he had running round his head, and there would be nothing he could do to stop him.

 

As soon as he’d received the phone call that swung all of this in to motion, Greg had known that there must really be no other place for him to go. He hadn’t expected this truly ridiculous determination to reject the help he’d sought in some misguided attempt at sticking to the rules. Greg wasn’t sure what was going on in Princess’ head, would probably never understand; but he knew he couldn’t let him suffer any more when he had the power to do something about it.

 

Greg felt the moment he won the argument. Mycroft stopped trying to fight his touch and instead leant heavily against him. Though his back was ramrod straight and resisting any movement that might cause more pain, he was relying on Greg completely to hold him up. Making sure not to remove the support he presented, Greg knelt on the sofa next to Mycroft and taking all of the strain on himself, lowered Mycroft back into the cushions.

 

Glancing between the watch on his wrist and the semi conscious man, Greg surmised that the painkillers must have started to take effect. He knew from experience that they kicked in quickly and were surely strong enough to make the man pliant and relaxed. Unfortunately he also knew they were probably also strong enough to have been the cause of the little meltdown that had just occurred. He’d been flying when he’d taken them, left a babbling and confused mess if he was honest, but at least he’d been a pain free mess.

 

Now he was mostly docile, Greg took advantage and picked up a big pair of scissors from the coffee table. Sending up a plea for forgiveness to the gods of Savile Row, he began the process of cutting along seams to remove the fabric from the barely conscious man. It was better this way, had he been awake, he’d probably have put up at least a token fight.

 

It took more time than he’d anticipated, but finally on his sofa sat a battered, bloody and bruised man; clothed only in a rather nice pair of silk boxers. Greg almost wanted to have to cut them away too so that he could pine the loss of those as well, but he couldn't think of any suitably valid reason to remove them. As he took in the pile of tattered cloth that now sat on his living room floor, it was difficult to believe it had once been a truly beautiful suit. Greg had been right about the pain killers, they’d knocked his Princess out cold 

Greg had been forced to manoeuvre the injured man’s body to aid in the removal of the clothes. As careful as he’d been, he’d still had to listen to the small cries of anguish as he did so. The pain clearly severe enough to break through to the man’s subconscious and have it voicing its displeasure.  Hearing the whimpering caused by his actions, as unavoidable as they were, had struck Greg hard. He didn’t like causing Princess pain, not at all. 

Rising from his kneeling position on the floor, Greg quickly ran to the kitchen and grabbed a roll of bin bags. He stuffed the remnants of suit into one and tied the top quickly. Maybe if he didn’t have to look at it he wouldn’t feel so guilty. Dumping the bag by the front door for disposing of later, he returned to the kitchen and began to run the hot water. Mixing a combination of wound disinfectant and water in the bowl, Greg prepared to clean as much of the grime from his skin as possible before working out his next moves.

 

As he made his way back to the front room, careful not to splash water all over the hardwood floor and make it lethally slippery, Greg could hear muttering coming from the unconscious form of the man that lay sprawled in an inelegant expanse of well toned, but spidery limbs against the leather.

 

Getting closer Greg could almost convince himself he could make out individual words. That doubt was removed when glassy eyes opened and looked right at him from under a deep and annoyed looking frown.

 

“Wasn’t supposed to be pretty.”

 

Greg was as confused as hell. It was quite apparent that in this case the lights were on but no one was home, when it came to just how “there” Princess was. He was out for the count and clearly the painkillers made him a little loopy too.

 

“What wasn’t?”

 

“Tom, wasn’t. Wasn’t supposed to be pretty at all.  Sounds it too. Knew that though, don’t tell. Shhh.”

 

Greg was struck dumb and stood perfectly still, not sure whether he’d heard that or just imagined it. A flutter of something not unfamiliar started in his stomach, but Greg tamped it down. The man was on painkillers, he wasn’t making sense and had no idea what he was saying. As quickly as his Princess has started to speak his head fell back into the cushions and he was silent and unconscious once more. Shaking his head to push away the distracting and frankly more than slightly hopeful thoughts, Greg forced himself back into action. The painkillers wouldn’t last forever and it would be a while before he could give him more. He wanted to get as much of the medical attention out of the way as possible before he started to wake up again. He couldn’t hold back the whispered response to Princess’ words though. 

“Tom thinks the same Princess, he really does, but it’s going to have to be our secret.”


	12. Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello again my lovelies! Thank you for stopping by. As always I want to thank every one of you for sticking with me and leaving such fantastic comments and kudos and just taking the time to read. My thanks as ever to MyCitrusPocket who is the best beta and more importantly friend a girl can have. 
> 
> I hope you like this new chapter, it's a direct continuation from where we left off last time.

 

Now that Greg had managed to get his guest as clean as possible without being able to get him into the shower or bath, his job didn't seem all that much easier. If anything, in the brightness of the living room, it seemed even more daunting than it had done before. Despite the noises of discomfort emitted from the sofa while he’d bathed him as gently as possible, his Princess had remained otherwise unaware of the proceedings so far. He was now surrounded by discarded gauze pads saturated with a worrying amount of blood; between that and the things he had yet to use, the room had taken on the look of a war zone field hospital. At least Greg thought so, and it did have that feel of desperation Greg imagined one would have. Not that he had any kind if experience with any of this. He was flying by the seat of his pants in the worst possible way, but then he didn't really have anyone he could ask without having to field a multitude of questions he knew he couldn't answer.

 

Greg held his hand in place a little longer, exerting as gentle pressure as he dared over the most concerning injury. Time and time again the crimson stain had stubbornly reappeared, soaking through the sterile dressing Greg pressed over it with as much force as seemed wise. For some time Greg had been on the verge of calling an ambulance, he hadn’t even spared a thought as to how he would explain what was going on, but none of that had seemed relevant. Thankfully, before he was forced to make the decision the blood flow finally started to slow down, the length of time between saturation of the pad between his hand and the pared flesh increasing each time; each extra minute gained lowered his anxiety levels dramatically. Greg didn’t want to disturb the progress they’d made and set them back again, so he stayed where he was. Any other time, kneeling between this man’s spread thighs might elicit completely different feelings than the stressed and anxious ones he was currently battling with. Greg had to question himself as soon as that thought crossed his mind. Who the hell had thoughts of a sexual nature, no matter how fleeting, whilst covered in the blood of the man who inspired them? He wasn’t sure, but he doubted it could be a good thing. No, it was definitely not a good thing at all.

 

While he waited, the stark light of the living room allowed Greg to take in the overall state of his patient. He’d been so focussed on the individual issues that he hadn’t had time to even begin to evaluate how each of the small things he dealt with came together as a whole. It wasn’t a positive picture that was for sure. As time had progressed, and the layer of spilled blood and other substances had been cleared away under his careful ministrations, darkening bruises had been revealed and had continued to flourish while he’d watched, creating a vibrant oil painting with shades of purple and red that stretched across what should have been a porcelain expanse of smooth skin. Skin that Greg knew should have only been broken up by the tantalising freckles that spread across the alabaster body like a blanket of stars in the night sky.

 

Slowly Greg pulled his hand back from Princess’ side, watching it intently and with a certain degree of fear to see if the removal of pressure would cause it to being bleeding once more. He let out a relieved breath when there was no immediate increase in blood visible on the surface. He would watch it carefully, but for now he was satisfied. Greg climbed from his position between Princess’ feet on the floor. He winced slightly at the ache in his knees that indicated just how long he had actually been in the same position. He levered himself to sit on one side of the coffee table, careful not to upset the things he'd need for the next stage of operation “Patch the Princess”. Knees bent and spread wide, Greg leant his elbows on his thighs and dropped his head into his waiting hands, before rubbing them vigorously over his dry and tight skin. He scrunched his eyes shut and wiggled his cheeks trying to ease the stiffness and get ready for what was coming. Looking over his shoulder Greg noted the time on the clock and was surprised at just how long he had been immersed in tiding up the unconscious man. Swinging his eyes from the clock back to the table next to him, he knew he couldn’t postpone the inevitable any longer. Standing slowly and collecting the bowl of red tinged water from the floor, Greg made his way to the kitchen to wash and disinfect his hands again. Even though he’d warn gloves, blood had crept up his arms and dotted his shirt where the water had splashed back at him. A sitting room wasn’t the best place for work that should be done somewhere sterile and with access to antibiotics, but he’d do all he could to stave off infection.

 

With a new bowl of hot water Greg made his way back at the sofa and resumed his position on the coffee table. He placed the bowl on the floor well out of reach of flailing feet. Greg settled for a moment before moving to lift the gauze pad he had placed over the long slice that marred Princess’ side. The blood had already started to soak through, but Greg was relieved to see that is no longer seeped from the wound at the rate it had done. Able to see it more clearly now, he cursed when he saw the depth of the cut. Greg had been maintaining hope that despite how it looked they would be able to get away without stitches. While it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, Greg was sure it wasn’t going to hold itself together without help. Would steri-strips hold it? Greg wanted to believe they would, but the apparent severity of the gash suggested it was going to need a little more help than thin strips of sticky fabric. As much as he might want to avoid having to pierce a needle through that tender and pale skin over and over, it didn’t look like he was going to get his wish.

 

It was more than a little unnerving to one moment be sitting before an inert man pondering wound closure options, to then be faced by wide awake eyes. In a matter of mere seconds Princess had gone from completely asleep to looking like a deer caught in the headlights. There wasn’t a large amount of recognition behind his eyes and Greg was worried that they were heading towards another minor melt down.

 

“You’re safe, almost clean, and apparently now awake for the really interesting part. You with me, Princess?”

 

Greg waited him out, staying still and trying very hard to appear as unthreatening as possible. He knew he had no option but to wait and see what happened next. Greg watched as confusion ghosted across the man’s face, for a moment making him appear young and lost. Greg couldn't let that go unanswered so he leant forwards slowly and placed a hand on one of the knees he’d been knelt between. He rested his hand there lightly as he tried to judge the reaction to its presence. He was acutely aware that the man was still under the influence of painkillers that had him delirious. Greg would do nothing to cause the man any more confusion and if he showed any signs at all that he was under duress Greg would immediately back off. It's wasn't sexual, it was about comfort. All he wanted to do was provide comfort and reassurance to the man on his sofa. Maybe another time, if they were lucky enough to get the opportunity, they could explore what appeared to be a mutual attraction.

 

Greg poured all of his concern into his eyes after Princess finally stopped swinging his head around as he searched the room frantically. When their eyes met, Greg watched as the man inside came back, until staring back at him was a man almost as lucid as he.

 

Mycroft felt like he was clawing himself through extremely viscous liquid, verging on the edge of panic as he tried to find the surface in order to breathe again. He found his anchor and guide in the brown eyes that met his blue, and the hand that flexed against his knee, fingers kneading slightly at his flesh. They were his fixed points to orbit around while his mind swam in the dulled state he sought to throw off. He looked confused, at least he must have because though he saw Tom’s lips move and though he heard sound, he was unable to make sense of the things that reached his ears. Trying to control the feelings and adrenaline that coursed through him, centering his breathing he waited for it to all dissipate. Gradually the roaring faded and his clarity started to return, thankfully the pain he recalled all too well remained subdued by the drugs still in his system.

 

When Tom spoke again, Mycroft was extremely relieved to both hear and comprehend his words.

 

“You ok?”

 

Greg felt the look that was directed at him for asking that question right in his gut. It was withering and incredulous and as powerful as it was, it let Greg know that there was complete understanding there, and for that he was grateful.

 

“Yeah, ok daft question. We’re halfway there I suppose, but I think you’re going to wish you’d stayed asleep for the next bit.”

 

Mycroft looked down at himself and his mostly naked state; though, that given the blanket of bruising that covered so much of his body, he may as well be clothed. He could feel Tom’s eyes as they swept over his skin and even though Mycroft knew in order to have cleaned him there had been considerably more physical contact than they were currently sharing, it felt incredibly intimate. Mycroft felt his skin start to ripple as goose bumps erupted all over his body and a shiver that started in his core moved to electrify his limbs in a wave that throbbed through him. It was a shudder that had absolutely nothing to do with pain, and everything to do with something completely inappropriate given the situation.

 

Greg felt as the skin beneath his fingers shook slightly and it alarmed him. Immediately he worried that the discomfort was increasing and the pain was returning sooner than he had expected.

 

“Is the pain back? Are you cold? What can I do?”

 

With his mind clear, Mycroft knew he was incredibly lucky to be where he was. After taking the pills he’d had such vivid dreams full of confusion that as uncomfortable and vaguely embarrassed as he was now, he was still extremely thankful to be awake.

 

“This is not the warmest I believe I have ever been.”

 

Mycroft knew it was a small lie, but even that felt bitter on his tongue. That he was lying to Tom was abhorrent to him, but he honestly didn’t know how to even begin to express the real reason for his body’s reaction. Even in his weakened state, their proximity effected Mycroft in a way that he had not felt in a very long time. The hand on his knee was removed and he mourned its absence, but it was only moments until he felt warm fingers wrapping around his and moving his hand. He was distracted by the feel of slightly roughened skin against his own and his eyes flicked to where their hands met seeking confirmation from his sight that he wasn’t imagining it all. It all felt so very real, but could he dare to believe it? His doubt was taken away completely when his hand was placed over his side and the throb of pain let him know that he was indeed awake. Instinctively Mycroft drew in a hissed breath, at the resurgence of pain the unwise action brought he then groaned deep in this throat and dropped his chin to his chest to deal with the chain reaction his unwise actions had caused.

 

“Stay still and hold that for me? Don’t do anything else. It’s going to be bad enough as it is.”

 

Tom’s voice was pained and concerned and Mycroft tried to focus on that. He opened one eye to look at him.

 

“I truly hadn’t thought of that, thank you for your insight.”

 

“There you go, that’s the Princess I know. Hang on there, I’ll turn up the heating and grab a couple of blankets. Let’s see if we can warm you up a bit.”

 

Greg placed his hands on both of Mycroft’s knees and without adding too much pressure pushed himself to standing. He looked at him quickly one more time before hurrying off. Heading straight to the thermostat on the wall, he notched the heating higher, took another look at it and with a shrug of his shoulders added a couple of more to be on the safe side. Carrying on down the hall he made for the airing cupboard and pulled out two soft, warm blankets. He held the fluffy fabric between his fingers and rubbed it distractedly for a moment before realising he was only wasting time he didn’t really have.

 

Making sure his footsteps were heavy enough to be heard so he didn’t startle the man on the sofa, he came up behind him. Greg wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything that would cause the injured man any more concern or cause him to react in a way that would hurt either of them. Greg knew the man was more than capable of damaging him if he was caught unawares and acted on instinct, he wanted to avoid that at all costs. As he approached the back of the sofa he announced his presence with a small cough and watched closely for any sign that Princess knew he was there. Watching the back of the head that rose just above the back of the cushion, he was incredibly relived when it took only moments for his arrival to be acknowledged with a slight nod of the head that told him he knew he was there. Placing one blanket on the back of the sofa, Greg shook out the other one and let it fall around the pale shoulders in front of him. Greg knew he was perhaps pushing his luck when he couldn’t leave it at that. Instead Greg used his hands to tuck it closer around the chilled man, letting his fingers linger a little longer as his actions ceased to be purely functional.

 

Greg was powerless to stop himself even though he knew he shouldn’t continue, without his realising his hands has migrated to massaging the tense muscles of Princess’ neck and shoulders. He stopped what he was doing but didn’t remove his hands. Neither of them said a word, but when the object of his attention rolled his head around and slowly raised his right hand, crossing it across his chest to rest on top of Greg’s hand on his left shoulder, Greg was completely staggered. The movement was slow but it was obviously nothing less than completely deliberate and full of meaning. They settled into a strangely timeless moment, everything seemed to stop. Nothing else mattered except for their touching hands. Fingers brushed against each other in gentle exploratory caresses, circles were traced into the back of Greg’s hand by long elegant fingers that captured his attention. Turning over his hand and bending it back at the wrist, Greg changed their grip. He was careful not to push the man into moving too quickly, but the need for more was just too much to ignore. Greg’s breath hitched slightly when their palms slid over each other and their fingers tentatively locked together. 

 

Though no conversation was exchanged, that didn’t mean they weren’t communicating. They stayed like that for several minutes, both enjoying the contact that felt illicit, pushing aside any thoughts of the storm that could easily follow should anyone ever find out about any of their current actions. With one final mutual squeeze they released each other. Returning to their previous states, but not unaffected by what had passed between them. 

 

As Greg walked around to sit on the coffee table once more, they seemed to have trouble meeting each other’s eyes. He knew it was completely ridiculous, but he just didn’t know where to go from their completely unexpected interaction. No, Greg thought, not unexpected. They’d been working towards something for a long time, the only unexpected thing was the timing with which things were happening. He’d hoped that despite everything that stood between them maybe they’d have been able to work something out, even if it never progressed further than all night conversations online or talking on the phone making veiled references and suggestions while they were ever mindful of who could be listening.

 

Greg sat down too quickly and with a little too much force that he regretted as soon as the coffee table made its displeasure known. Its protest enough that Greg thought it was going to collapse and leave him sitting amongst a heap of broken wood and medical supplies. The shock had him instinctively looking towards his Princess and their eyes finally met. The uncomfortable moment that had followed their advances was broken by their mutual surprise and amusement at Greg’s almost predicament.

 

When Princess smiled at him, Greg knew he was in terrible danger of falling completely. The face that had been attractive to him even when pinched in pain, seemed to change completely and even with such a small change it came alive and Greg was captivated. He soon sobered when he saw the bruises and abrasions once more. Chastising himself for his absolute lack of appropriate focus, Greg forced himself away from the fanciful thoughts and was determined to continue to do what was needed of him.

 

“You need stitches.”

 

Mycroft looked down and gingerly peeled back a corner of the pad he held in place. With the tilt of an eyebrow and a definite sigh he looked up and nodded and then glanced to the surface of the coffee table.

 

“Unfortunately I believe you are correct. Do you have a suture kit amongst all of that?”

 

“I do, along with a lot of other things.”

 

“Yes, I can see. Not that I am not grateful, but why do you have such extensive supplies?”

 

“Because you never know when you’re going to need them I suppose. I like to be prepared.”

 

“If you prepare the needle for me, I can close it quickly.”

 

“I can do that. Stitch it for you, I mean. I know how and it has to be easier than you trying to do it yourself.”

 

“You know how to suture?”

 

“You don’t have to look like that, yes I know how.”

 

“How?”

 

“How what?”

 

“Don’t be obtuse, how do you know how to suture?”

 

“Look. I just do, I’m all you’ve got so just let’s get this done.”

 

“How, Tom?”

 

“Youtube, alright? I learnt it on Youtube. Hey! You can learn anything on there, I’ll have you know. I practiced just in case I ever needed to know how. So yeah, you can be thankful anytime now.”

 

“I apologise. It is merely a little surprising. If you must, please do continue. I leave my flesh under your care.”

 

 

They let that comment and the suggestions it carried pass between them without comment. The way they looked at each other though, well that acknowledged it without doubt. Greg looked him up and down and tried to work out the best way of going about the stitching.

 

“I think it’s probably going to be best if we get you lying down. It’ll be less stress on you and I can get a better angle on things. The neater the stitches the better, I’d hate to leave you with an ugly scar.”

 

Mycroft looked at Tom and then down to his own exposed body. He had that many scars he had a feeling it wouldn’t matter if he was sewn together with blanket stitch, another scar to the collection wouldn’t really make a difference.

 

“I do not believe it would be noticed either way.”

 

Greg kept his head down as he spoke but he was emboldened by the way their interaction had been going. His cheeks may have linked slightly in a way that had him wishing he was bolder in these situations.

 

“I’d notice. If I'm going to mark your skin I'm going to do the best I can.”

 

“Thank you. Though so long as I don't end up with a lightning bolt and the edges are closed, I shall be quite satisfied by the outcome.”

 

“Ok so that's not setting the bar terribly high. At least it's an attainable goal I suppose. Now, we need to get you lying down, how do you want to do it?”

 

Greg stood and looked down at Princess, trying to look intimidating and no doubt failing miserably. With his hands resting on his hips, he waited for his instructions as patiently as possible. Watching carefully, Greg could see the small twitches of muscles beneath their liberal coating of bruises. Those small indictors that let him know Princess was trying to work out which ones caused the least amount of pain when tensed. After what seemed like an extended time Greg couldn't take it anymore, with a huff he spread his hands in front of him palm up. ~~~~

 

“Seriously? You're going to struggle rather than ask for help?”

 

At least he had the grace to look chastised when he looked up, Greg thought. Glaring back at him with a faint sheen of moisture on his upper lip and a fury in his eyes that showed just how much effort he had been putting in and getting little in return. 

 

“I have asked too much of you already.”

 

“Oh shut up, you're talking absolute bollocks right now. We’re doing this right? I've stripped you almost naked, given you a sponge bath and I'm about to pierce your skin with a needle and you won't ask for my help to lie down? Are you kidding me?”

 

“Why thank you for making my embarrassment complete. Do you have anything more to add?”

 

“Are you always going to be this damn stubborn? I'm helping. All this right here?”

 

Greg waved his hands around him and over his head, his agitation making him lose the control he usually kept over his move overt behaviours.

 

“This has all been me helping, so just keep that mouth of yours shut and let's get this done. You get a pass only because you've had one hell of a shit day, so I forgive you. But this is a one time deal, you give me this much of a hard time next time and I swear you won't like me when I lose my temper!”

 

Mycroft wasn't quite so sure about that, despite the fact that he was getting quite a telling off, the actions of the man in front of him were more than a little intriguing and rather stimulating actually. Well, it would have been if his body had been capable of that right now. Seeing as he was barely dressed and rather exposed Mycroft was more than a little grateful that it wasn't.

 

“You make a strong argument. If you wouldn't mind, I require your assistance.”

 

“See how easy that was? We're going to have to work on that, Princess. We really are. Right, if you just work on keeping that nasty slash in your side from bleeding again I'm going to swivel you around as carefully as I can, still going to hurt though.”

 

“I am as ready as I am likely to get. So we may as well get this over with.”

 

Reaching out his arms, Greg hesitated with a questioning look on his face. Even after the astonishingly large amount of contact they had shared already, he still felt like he needed to ask permission to continue. He received a nod and raised one knee on kneel on the sofa. Weighing up the possibilities, Greg settled on full contact and doing most, if not all of the work. As gently as he could he depressed the cushion to slide his arm around Princess’ back. The other he slid beneath his knees. In one smooth move, mindful of his balance and glad he still had his strength he managed a miracle of a move, and without giving the injured man time to even think about tensing had him sideways on the sofa, his feet pointing to the left arm and his back to the right. The new position would give Greg perfect access for stitching and as close to comfortable as they were likely to get.

 

“I have to say Tom, that was a rather impressive display.”

 

“Thank you kind sir, how you doing?”

 

“That was not as bad as I was anticipating I'll grant you.”

 

Realising he was still essentially hunched over the man and cradling him in his arms, he somewhat reluctantly lowered the man, so instead of sitting he was stretched along the seat. Greg knew that that part was going to be difficult as it would stretch the skin along his ribs, but it had to be done. He could see the stress lines around Princess’ mouth and he watched the muscles in his jaw tense and ripple as he held back the pain. Greg tried to speak to him, tried to reach through the pain, but he had retreated inside himself with his eyes closed tight and seemingly past hearing. It worried Greg more than he would like to admit, before he knew it he’d extracted his arms from beneath the tense body and as though on autopilot and not all that aware of his moments he had the fingers of one hand trailing along a lightly stubbled cheek and stroking along the muscles of his jaw with his thumb.

 

“Come on Princess, we’re almost done, stay with me a little bit longer.”

 

As he spoke, Greg was relieved to have a flash of blue eyes meet his as Princess’ breathing slowed and his jaw relaxed. His words were still strained but he was responding again.

 

“I am sorry.”

 

“I'm sorry too, I didn't want to hurt you. You going to be ok to carry on?”

 

Those eyes searched his for a long moment, making Greg want to squirm under the apparent depth of the scrutiny before Princess nodded, only once and slowly, but confirmation all the same. Greg let out the breath he had instinctively held while he waited.

 

“You know what you're doing?”

 

“Yes, and I practiced.”

 

“On what? Do you keep wounded men around for the experience?”

 

Greg dropped his head and turned it slightly so that when he responded it was a little muffled, so much so that the look he received after it was a confused one.

 

“Care to try that again?”

 

“Pork, I practiced on pork. Go on, say whatever you want. And for the record, no I don't make a habit of having anyone else around here, injured or otherwise.”

 

“Actually no, that was a rather good choice considering. Industrious of you. I am also glad that you have made an exception for me.”

 

“Completely not what I was expecting there. You ready for this?”

 

“In for a penny, in for a pound.”

 

“Ok. Shit. Let’s do this.” 

 

Mycroft worried then, he was asking so much of Tom. Asking so much of both of them really. Leaving them like fish out of water and doing the best they could to survive under difficult circumstances.

 

“Tom? Are you ok with this? I can do it myself. You don't have to do this you know?

 

“No, I'm good. If you're in, then I am too. Let’s get this show on the road.”

 

Neither of them looked terribly convinced that they were ready for what they were about to do, but they didn't really have a choice. They'd come too far to go back now.

 

 

 


	13. Embroidery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, life seems determined to get in the way of writing. Hopefully things will get back to normal now. Anyway, I hope you like this next instalment of Greg and Mycroft's story. 
> 
> As always my huge thanks to everyone who reads, leaves kudos, comments or bookmarks. Each and every one is greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Thanks as ever to MyCitrusPocket for her amazing work in helping me keep this going. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

Greg still sat on the coffee table, but now the job was complete. A neat and delicate row of stitches now adorned that pale ribcage. Stitches he’d put there, one after another in a seemingly endless production line. He'd never been so relieved to finish something in his life. Greg could only really describe what he was feeling now as shock. That was by far the worst thing he had ever had to do. Much, much worse than he had imagined it was going to be, and he hadn’t been foolish enough to think it was going to be that great to start with. If he never had to do something like that again, it would be far too soon. That Princess had been able and willing to do that to himself staggered him. It had been hard enough putting someone else through that, Greg couldn't imagine how the hell he'd have fared if he’d had to do it to himself.  
  
There was no way he was ever going to be able to get the alien sensations of forcing the needle to pierce the flesh and then hearing and feeling the tug of fibre sliding through as he pulled the edges together out of his mind. Practicing on the joint of meat may have helped his technique, but it hadn’t in any way prepared him for how very different it would feel to undertake those same actions on a living, breathing body. His newly patched patient was breathing shallowly on the sofa. What skin Greg could see around the blanket of bruises and abrasions, was pale and wan; the harsh light drew focus to the sheen of sweat that coved his body as he lay with his eyes closed as he continued to try separate his mind and body. He’d warned Greg he was going to do it, but it had still been strange to watch as he’d disappeared inside his head, visibly retreating from what was about to happen. It was obvious he still felt a degree of pain, but he had endured each moment stoically. Barely flinching as Greg had pierced his skin over and over again. Greg had looked up from his work often as he tried to judge the state Princess was in. Other than an intermittent twitch in his left eye, the clenching of the muscles in his jaw and the death grip he maintained on the sofa cushion with his hand, he’d not moved or made a sound.  
  
Of the two of them Greg was more than a little embarrassed that it seemed he was the one most affected. Thankfully he’d managed to keep a steady and sure hand as he’d worked as quickly and neatly as he could, but now he’d stopped his adrenaline was running out. Glancing down Greg was only slightly surprised to see that he’d started to shake, tremors ran through his body, but they were most notable in his unsteady hands.  Holding them out parallel to the floor he watched them for a moment before clenching them into fists and stretching them back out to try and regain his control. His voice was wrecked once he managed to compose himself enough to speak, rough and deep in his throat.

“Let’s not make a habit of that, yeah?”

Mycroft allowed the words to filter into his mind. Though he had tried, he’d not managed to separate himself completely from the external world and had felt every single pass of the needle as it was drawn through his skin. He’d managed to remain calm and manage the pain though and truly hoped he’d managed to keep Tom oblivious to his discomfort. Mycroft could see that Tom was under pressure and doing the best he could to deal with the situation, and so far he had acted with a courage and remarkable competency as well as compassion. Everything was so overwhelming that it was too hard to understand, especially not with as exhausted they were now. Mycroft could feel sleep pulling at his consciousness, lulling him deeper into the cushions now that the only remaining pain he was dealing was the deep throbbing he’d somehow become used to.

Mycroft could also see that while Tom was secure with their previous work interactions, the events of the last few hours had Tom unsure and kept him unbalanced. Mycroft wanted to do anything he could to take away the uncertainty that he saw clearly on Tom’s face. He weighed up the pros and cons of what he planned and quickly prepared himself for the resurgence of pain he knew it would bring.

Releasing his fingers was difficult, he’d been gripping the cushion so tightly and for so long, his joints had seized, leaving his hands in mangled claws with stiff white knuckles. Despite the warmth of the room his hand was cold, but he reached it out all the same. Bringing it to rest against the closest part of Tom he could reach, which happened to be his clasped hands that hung together between his knees. Mycroft knew Tom hadn't seen him move, forcing his left eye to remain open he took the opportunity to look at him while he could. He looked so lost and alone, though his very soul was beaten and Mycroft realised he didn’t like that in the slightest. Tom sat with his head hanging low, he’d slumped forwards with his shoulders hunched over, closing himself off from the outside world. The desire to provide comfort was not as unknown to Mycroft as others might think, but it was indeed uncommon and it left him feeling self-conscious as he made his tentative overtures.

Greg jolted when the cold weight of a hand landed on top of his. Instinctively he took it between his warm hands and began to slowly try and rub some warmth back into it, allowing his heat to be leeched away gradually to provide what relief he could. Greg kept his head bowed and his eyes closed as he swayed slightly side to side. His mind had quieted and his guilt began to seep away, he couldn't help but believe it was because of the contact he now shared with the man dubbed Princess.

Greg knew that they were already on extremely shaky ground, they'd broken almost all the rules and there could be no going back from that. Not that he wanted to. He actually wanted to break them all, forget the restrictions. Ignore the barriers that were placed between them through necessity. He just wanted more, the promise of it lay between them now. The undeniable stirrings of desire in its infancy, fragile and delicate and calling for further investigation filled the air. Greg wanted the chance to know his name, wanted to hear his own spill from those lips. He wanted to cry the name that belonged to the man that captivated his attention. Greg shook his head to clear it. Now he knew he really was losing his mind. Talk about fantasy running away with itself, it was madness and Greg could only out it down to the stress of the situation addling his mind. His thoughts may be careening completely out of control, but there was something underneath the craziness that wouldn't be denied. Searching for some kind of equilibrium, Greg clutched at the one thing that made him hope that he hadn't managed to ruin the world that still turned outside of his apartment. It was complete foolishness but it seemed rational to Greg that all wasn't lost if they still abided by the instructions that they didn't know each other’s names. There was no anonymity left to them but that, and that was clutching at straws.  
  
He kept his head down, worried that any wrong move on his part would damage the fragile flirtation that circled them both and let out the turmoil that raced around his brain in a traitorous rush.  
  
“Tom? Are you well?”  
  
When he did pluck up the courage to look up Greg was greeting by one curiously unsure looking bloodshot eye, open and searching his face in anticipation. Greg realised then that he wasn't the only one not exactly sure what was going on, and that was an incredible relief. The laughter that escaped his chest made them both start. It was slightly unstable at best, slightly manic might be a better description.  
  
“Are you kidding me? Shouldn't it be me asking you that? I'm not the one sporting a fetching set of nylon patchwork in my side.”  
  
“Perhaps not, but the toll it has taken on you is more than evident.”

“Do I look that bad?”  
  
“Quite the contrary. I must thank you, Tom. For everything, this is not something I will ever be able to repay.”

“It's not something you have to repay. I've told you before, if you need something you come to me and I'll make it happen. I'm an organiser, it's what I do. I'm glad you came to me, I really am. But how are you doing?”  
  
Mycroft took a minute to take stock, wanting to answer as truthfully as possible.  
  
“Better than I was, but then I haven't tried to move properly for a while. I think my joints may have forgotten their purpose.”  
  
“I'll get you more pills and then I'll help you get to bed.”  
  
Mycroft twisted his head slightly and immediately regretted it. He had not been wrong about his muscles having become even stiffer than before.  
  
“I believe I'll stay here, thank you. If you’d care to help with the blanket?”

“I don't think so, you stay here and we’ll never get you up and about again. The sofa is really comfy, but trust me, you don't want to sleep there.”  
  
Mycroft attempted to exert some kind of control over his rebellious body, but his eyes rolling in his head and a groan escaping his lips when he did.  
  
“No, very sure I'm staying here, if you don't mind?”  
  
“Sorry Princess, but nope. Painkillers, a bit of time for them to start working and then we’re going to get you to an absolutely amazing bed.”  
  
“You only have one bedroom, Tom. Where do you intend to sleep if I am to occupy your bed?”

“I don't “intend” to sleep at all, and how do you know I only have one bedroom?”  
  
“I observe, but it is of little consequence. With all the upheaval I have already caused you, I will not also deprive you of your sleep.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it, it's one night. Anyway, I don't think I can sleep so not really an issue.”  
  
Mycroft didn't want to move, he'd tried it and it hurt. He’d had enough of hurting, he just wanted to pass out somewhere and wake up again when it was all over. From experience he knew the following day was going to be worse, not from the wounds themselves, he could cope with that, but from the stiffness that would leave him moving like an aged version of himself. He definitely was not looking forward to it.  
  
“Tom, please? I have recuperated in far worse settings than this, trust me. Where I am is perfectly adequate for tonight.”  
  
He watched as look that said he’d reached the limit of his patience crossed over Tom’s face. Without responding to Mycroft's last statement, he stood and looked down at him. A look that made him want to fidget under the gaze, and he would have if it wouldn't have undermined his position of stating where he was rather than taking possession of the bed. With a shake of his head, Tom stomped across the floor and Mycroft watched him go. He could hear Tom muttering to himself and shaking his head. The only words he caught as the grumbling man disappeared into the kitchen were “stubborn bastard” “talking crap” and “just do as he’s told”.

Mycroft let his eyes close and just listened to the sounds of Tom bustling around in the kitchen. It was strangely comforting to hear such domestic sounds around him and not the usual deafening silence he tried to mask with music. Mycroft took advantage of the privacy he’d been granted to take stock of the newest adornment to his skin. With painfully slow process he raised his hand to his side, careful not to disturb the fresh stitches and cautious not to touch the actual joining of flesh itself, he ran his fingers around the wound to learn the boundaries of what would become the latest chapter of his life told in the story of his scars. His touch was slow and almost reverent as his mind began to write the paragraphs that would forever annotate it, as time took it from sutured wound to a pink line that faded in time to a pale stripe that barely stood out from his skin, its story would remain the same. Time would make him forget the pain, he’d put aside all but the sweetest of memories. This scar would carry the weight of all the “if only” moments, at the same time it would only bear the promise of what could have been. It wouldn’t have time to hold the sour memories of things that didn’t work out. Arguments and disappointments wouldn’t have time to take their toll on either he or Tom, nothing could sully the potential they’d had. Mycroft knew he could, with only a fond touch of his finger, be back here in this moment again. He knew that he carried many scars from the past and in the future more were sure to take there place along side it, but he doubted that any of them would ever be anything more than just a mark on his skin. This one was most definitely more, it may have been caused in anger but it had been treated with compassion and that was all he would choose to remember. 


	14. Little by little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay with this one. The tentative posting schedule isn't all that attainable when you're sick and really can't face writing. I hope you forgive me and this makes up for it a little. 
> 
> Hmm what can I say? I always struggle here, each chapter summary/notes bit all sounds the same and just not enough. It doesn't look like this is any different to be fair. 
> 
> I was so tempted to wait til Saturday to post this, but seeing as I owe you a couple of weeks I figured I'd post it now. I hope you enjoy and as always the biggest thank you for your amazing comments and kudos and general enthusiasm that's a little overwhelming. xxx
> 
> As always Gumbie, couldn't do it without you xxxxx

Stopping what he was doing, Greg stood in the middle of the kitchen. He looked around slightly confused as to what had made him come to a halt. When he realised what it was, he wasn't sure whether he should trust his mind or not, it had been rather a stressful evening after all. As much as Greg worried he might be losing his marbles, the fact remained that he could hear music, well the deep rumbling of bass notes at least. It sounded like it could be filtering through the wall from one of his neighbours, which would be fine except the soundproofing was too good to make that possible. No, it was closer, in his flat, in the other room kind of closer. Greg crept forwards and bent at the waist to look around the doorway whilst trying to be as stealthy as possible.

 

He got the answer to his confusion immediately, along with an image that wedged itself into his mind and Greg doubted he’d ever manage to remove it, even if he tried. The humming was slightly louder, but that wasn't the thing that caused his stomach to clench. No, it was what he saw that delivered that unsubtle punch. Over the arm of the sofa, Greg could see the top of Princess’ ginger head, his hair glinting in russets and copper under the lights and was positively glowing. The most endearing thing was the wave, as it had dried it had done so leaving the most tempting beginnings of curls that Greg could ever remember seeing. The rest of his body was hidden in the depths of the sofa, but from his vantage Greg could just see two pale feet propped against the opposite arm of the sofa. If feet could be elegant (Greg had never been the biggest fan) then these were most likely the finest example. As he watched, there was a slight pause in the humming and indicators that there was movement within the confines of the settee which was confirmed when he watched those pale feet move from resting side by side to crossing at the ankles. Greg waited in the silence, not daring to move as he wondered just how much pain had been involved in that small adjustment. He knew he’d never get a truthful answer as to how much pain Princess was in if he asked him directly, and this might be his only opportunity to observe the truth. When the humming began again, Greg was most definitely pleased. Had things been worse than he’d thought, surely the gap between the movement and the resumed humming would have been longer? Greg looked down at the pills in his hand, he knew all about “recommended doses” and “possible side effects” and knew damn well it hadn't been the prescribed window between the last dose and the one he was about to give him. The pills hadn't actually been prescribed to anyone but him anyway, so maybe there could be a little bit of leeway when it came to taking too many. Greg wasn't a doctor, he didn't know what would happen, he only knew that the ones from before weren't exactly working anymore.

 

Weighing the pros and cons, Greg decided to leave one of the pills in the kitchen. If he needed to he could always have him take the other in a couple of hours. Greg was knocked from his reverie by an increase in the volume of the tune floating around the room, it rang a bell in his mind. Something about it was familiar, but it just wouldn't come to him, instead it hovered infuriatingly just out of reach at the edge of his mind. Thankfully he became distracted rather quickly, any thought of the music pushed aside when without realising he was walking into the front room, Greg had moved close enough to not just see those rather elegant feet, but also shapely calves and shins as they poked out from beneath the blanket. Greg gravitated closer, pulled in by the tantalising glimpse of freckles and dusting of short pale hair over the exposed skin.

 

Stepping further from the kitchen, Greg still couldn't see the car crash that was Princess’ chest. No, instead all Greg could see was a sight that made his front room seem different. Princess looked at home and the whole room changed with him in it. Instantly it became more appealing, more comfortable and more welcoming. While he loved his flat, it had never felt like it did now. With only the top of his head and legs peeking into view, it concealed the bruising and other ugliness that had been the necessary focus so far. It just looked like he was stretching out and relaxing after coming home from work. In that instant Greg knew what his home had been missing, it had been void of life. Not that he’d realised it of course, he’d been comfortable and satisfied up until now. Not knowing that something was wrong until everything seemed to fall into place and it suddenly felt very, very right. The room seemed alive, the noise of someone other than Greg himself in his space was almost intoxicating as it made his head swim, all the time accompanied by the music that seemed to bury itself deep under his skin making everything just that little more discombobulating. Still the name escaped him, but Greg knew if he ever heard it again he would be transported right back to this place.

 

Making his feet move again Greg got closer and closer. The image became less and less romantic and picturesque in his mind as more of the discolouration was revealed with each step he took. The only positive thing Greg could think of was that at least he didn't feel quite as skittish seeing it this time as he had initially. How could he when the sight filling his vision was the apparent embodiment of everything he’d ever wanted? Greg was reluctant to interrupt the seemingly relaxed humming man who was distractedly running his fingers over Greg's freshly placed stitches. Against his better judgement he wanted to give him a few more moments of peace, he’d definitely earned them, but he wasn’t going to do himself any favours if he introduced bacteria. He was just about to call out when he was distracted by the hypnotising movements of Princess’ hand, watching him trace around the line across his ribs. Greg watched the way his finger stuttered over the muscles at his ribs, and then circled the boundary, slowly creeping closer and closer to the vulnerable skin as he repeated the motions over and over again.

 

Greg knew his close proximity hadn't been noted when there was no hesitation in movement or tune as he approached. The tune livened and even just the tones of that made Greg hunger for another chance at hearing it. What would that voice sound like if he actually got to hear him sing? The idea of coming home and hearing what he just knew would be a wonderful voice as it greeted him from deeper in the flat had Greg's heart thumping, but then his mind went further as it taunted him mercilessly. How about hearing Princess sing over the pattering of a running shower? Waking up to that spilling into the bedroom from the en-suite in the early morning must be one of the better ways to wake up, surely?  Greg reined in the runaway thoughts as soon as that one made its bid for escape. That had escalated quickly, not that he hadn’t liked the direction his mind had taken, because he definitely had. There was no denying that there was something between them, something enough for Greg to want to do something about it and damn the consequences. That was going to have to be a conversation further down the line. Not too far, he may be patient, but he wasn't a saint.

 

Greg knew it might be a little risky to just reach out and touch Princess. He was completely oblivious, eyes closed, humming to himself and wholeheartedly immersed in whatever it was he was doing, but every part of Greg cried out that he do it. Demanding that he close the gap, seal the circuit, don't fight it, just do it. Before he could question himself more, Greg reached and wrapped the index finger and thumb of his right hand around the wrist of the left hand, stopping it as it was moments and millimetres away from aggravating Greg's embroidery.

 

“Pack it in. Unless you want to end up in hospital with an infection? What are you doing anyway?”

 

Mycroft didn't jump, he didn't even try to shake off the restraining contact that had pulled his hand away from his ribs. The realisation that none of his usual warning bells were ringing was unexpected, but he let it lie to mull over later.

 

Greg didn't quite know what to do, he hadn't had chance to think beyond this point. Princess had allowed his touch and wasn't trying to remove himself from it, it basically left Greg holding a cool wrist and feeling the fluttering of an erratic pulse beneath his fingers. It was the itching and mildly inappropriate desire for more that had Greg turning their hands over so he could place the pill on his palm. Releasing his grip gradually, Greg lowered Princess’ hand to rest palm up against his sternum, well away from its previous location.

 

“I was merely learning the extent of my newest modification.”

 

“Weird, but alright. Can you just wait until it’s healed a bit before you mess with it, please?”

 

“Yes, doctor.”

 

Greg gently dabbed at the wound with antiseptic, he placed a fresh dressing over the newly sutured skin, and secured it in place with white medical tape. It would keep it protected for a little longer and stop it catching on things for the time being. At the very least it would stop Princess messing with it.

 

“Sass aside, at least you're listening I suppose. I think we've about procrastinated enough, don’t you? Petit fleur!”

 

Greg watched and was slightly startled as a horrified look took root on Princess’ face. His pale eyebrows rose quickly and then settled into a thunderous glower.

 

“Pardon? What did you just call me, Tom? I draw the line at Princess, I have suffered that largely without argument. I quite simply refuse to permit you referring to me as little flower!”

 

Greg knew laughter probably wasn't going to be the right response to that, he did. Really, he did, but the mirth was barely concealed beneath his words as he tried to keep the smile from his face.

 

“What? No! That’s what you were humming! I knew I recognised it!”

 

That appeared to halt the oncoming storm and Greg watched as the ruffled feathers seemed to settle immediately. The frown left his face and was now replaced with a look that just as thoroughly involved Princess’ expressive eyebrows as they rose in surprise.

 

“I was humming?”

 

Greg had moved to perch on the arm of the sofa, careful not to disturb the feet that rested there and looked down at the once more placated man. Greg did his best to ignore the sheer amount of tempting skin on display where the blanket had ridden both up his legs and down his chest, leaving him covered from only thigh to waist.

 

“Yup, in tune and everything. Close enough that I could recognise it as Sydney Bechet anyway.”

 

Mycroft looked at Tom. Really examined the man that looked down at him with a rather pleased expression on his face. Oh he knew they’d talked about music, how could he forget that rather impressionable night? Because of that, he also knew that Tom’s interests didn't run towards jazz from the 1920’s. No, that was most definitely his preference.

 

“Tom, how did you recognise that song?”

 

He watched as a fetching blush rose high on Tom’s cheeks before he broke eye contact to glance at the floor self-consciously.

 

“I may have looked up some more music after we talked that night.”

 

It was Mycroft’s turn to be shocked and self-conscious, squirming slightly at the knowledge that Tom had possibly enjoyed their evening as much as he had. He fought the urge to turn his head away, but was fully aware of heat that spread over his face shining a red blush over his pale features. Defiantly he kept his head raised and let Tom see the colour and his reaction.

 

“You did?”

 

“Yeah figured if you were sharing something like that, I might want to pay attention and listen to some. I even quite liked it, did some digging into the whole era. It seems like it was a pretty amazing place. Music, art, dancing, the parties? Everything so alive and new, so full of life. Yeah it must have been something.”

 

Mycroft watched as excitement and a dreamy quality seemed to skip over Tom’s face at breakneck speed. It was hard to maintain any kind of frown or displeasure when he saw that kind of reaction to something he held dear to his heart. 

 

“It still is. You have to look for it, but it’s still there.”

 

“I wondered if you lived there.”

 

“Paris? Sometimes, others I'm here in London or wherever the work takes me.”

 

“It must be nice, getting to switch between two beautiful cities as and when you fancy. I don't get out of London much anymore, I seem to either be here or I’m underground at work, not so much to see at either place if I'm honest. Though my office is pretty fantastic now I've decorated.”

 

“Anthea?”

 

“Yeah Anthea, woman missed a trick, she'd have made a killing as an interior designer to the rich and famous.”

 

“As opposed to just killing them?”

 

“Look at you with the jokes. Ok, from that look on your face, not jokes, but can we not freak me out please. She scares me enough as it is with her stealth mode and ninja skills.”

 

“Tom, you do know what we do?”

 

“I know, but I try to ignore the ugly, but sometimes necessary actions we take. None of us are innocent, but we don't have to dwell on that part do we? I don't know about you, but if I couldn't get passed the times I had to make a decision that a mission came before the life of a person, I don't think I'd be able to get up in the morning.”

 

“I do believe I understand, my own feelings aren't quite so dissimilar. Thankfully we are in the information business and it’s not always as dramatic as a 007 film.”

 

“You watched the Bond films? Really?

 

“No Tom, I only watch black and white art house films. I also wear a beret at a jaunty angle and smoke Gauloises cigarettes.”

 

Greg dropped his hand to his side and squeezed the top of Princess’ foot at his sarcastic tone, but he knew he was joking when it was tempered by a slight smile on Princess’ face that took away any hint of scathing in the words. He was happy, the sense of humour he’d known before tonight was still intact, it had just been pushed aside by the ugliness of the day.

 

“The last few times I've been out, it’s all been for work, so not much time for sightseeing and smelling the roses. A bit tragic, but I've never had chance to explore the better parts of Paris. It never really came under my area of expertise. ”

 

“It’s... different. Neither better nor worse really. It just... is.”

 

“No! Surely not, I mean come on the cafes, the music!”

 

Mycroft watched as Tom leant towards him a little more as he spoke, he seemed truly interested in what he had to say and wanted to know more, and Mycroft found he actually wanted to tell him more.

 

“Sit.”

 

Greg knew he must have looked confused as he glanced down at himself sitting on the arm of the sofa and then frowning looked back to the man lying on it.

 

“Erm, I am.”

 

Mycroft sighed and braced himself against the seat cushion. Testing his body’s reaction to movement, Mycroft weighed his options and decided to do as he wanted, rather than what he felt like his body wanted. Tensing his stomach muscles he lifted his legs. Gritting his teeth he spoke again.

 

"On the sofa and quickly!"

 

Greg watched him move with disbelief. If he'd been confused before, now he was staggered, but he did move as quickly as instructed and slid down the arm of the sofa to slot into the space Princess had cleared for him. As soon as he was in the seat, those legs that had been raised dropped heavily across his thighs with a huff of breath from their owner. He was incredulous; he opened his mouth and closed it without speaking several times, only managing to speak after several moments and a shake of his head.

 

"I can't believe you! Looking at your face now, you probably want to take the pill you've got in a death grip over there. Why do you have to be so stubborn?"

 

Mycroft listened to Tom as he chastised him, but as far as he was concerned the discomfort he might be in was worth it for just how right their positions felt now. Maybe he was using his weakened state as an excuse to give in, but he really didn't have the energy or desire to fight quite so strongly as he had before. Why shouldn't he be allowed to explore any chance of happiness he might have? Given his chosen career and necessary restrictions on his life it brought, how many chances was he going to get?

 

There was a tug of war going on in his mind and Mycroft just wasn't sure which side was winning, or even which side he wanted to win.

 

"Take the pill, Princess. Then we’ll keep talking. When it's started to work, we’ll get your arse to bed, but hurry it up because I want to hear all about your Paris."

 

Mycroft didn’t want to grow old on his own. He’d deliberately forced thoughts of a future outside of work from his mind, but now those thoughts were assaulting him quite violently. They urged him to damn all the reasons they shouldn't explore the connection he and Tom clearly had. He looked at Tom and at his own position now almost draped over him, it all looked so domesticated that it made his heart speed up a little. He would love to think that in his future he could have more evenings like this, if not here then perhaps at his home in London, or even the apartment in Paris. He didn't just want to tell Tom about Paris, he wanted to show it to him. Each of his favourite places, the cafes, the museums, the music. He wanted to see Paris through Tom’s eyes, to rediscover the beauty that he’d started to forget as he’d become more jaded over the years.

 

“You doing ok there, Princess?”

 

Mycroft brought his palm to his lips and tipped the large white pill onto his tongue. Reaching towards the table he snagged the glass if now room temperature water that has been sitting there since he'd taken he first round of pills. Taking a mouthful of the tepid water, Mycroft swallowed hard, wincing slightly at the bitter chalky taste left on his tongue before placing the glass back where it had come from.

 

“Come on, we've got time to kill. Tell me stories.”

 

“What do you want to know?”

 

“I want to know about your favourite places, your home, what’s life like for you there?”

 

Mycroft settled his head more comfortably against the sloping arm of the sofa, he started slightly when he felt warm hands settle on his skin. One rested on his shin the other on the top of his foot. He opened his eyes again to see that Tom too had closed his eyes and rested his head against the back if the sofa. His fingers were not as still as the rest of him as they now rubbed slightly at his chilled skin, leaving a deeper warmth in their wake. He twitched his toes to get Tom’s attention. He didn't open his eyes to see what Mycroft wanted, but he’d apparently realised that he wanted something.

 

“What? And why aren't you regaling me with tales already? It's been a busy day you know, a bit of relaxation is called for.”

 

“I will begin momentarily, but could you pull the blanket down a little? My feet are chilly.”

 

Greg rearranged the blanket as he'd been asked, after the chaos and stress of the last few hours Greg thought that this was just what the doctor ordered. Rather than keeping his hands on top of the covers, he shuffled slightly so that he was half under the blanket too. There was a similar movement of the top of the blanket as Princess dragged it up around his chest. The flat wasn't cool with the heating cranked up like it was, but this was perfectly cosy.

 

“Stop stalling.”

 

Mycroft liked this relaxed side of Tom. He enjoyed his company immensely, enjoyed the give and take that passed between them easily, fluid and natural and quite foreign to him. Unbalanced or not, Mycroft couldn't deny that he felt compelled to share without having to choose his words carefullyin case he gave too much away. After all the “too much” he usually had to avoid were things that Tom already knew.

 

“There's a cafe, right on the river. I go and sit under the red awnings on the bamboo framed chairs, drink strong coffee and eat far too many delicious pastries than can be good for me. I get my newspapers...”

 

“Which ones?

 

“Hmm? Papers? The Times, Le Nouvel Obs, The New York Times and The Financial Times.”

 

“Bit of light reading then?”

 

“Yes. I sit there for hours given the opportunity. I listen to the hum of the conversations around me, not just in French. There's always a variety, Italian, German, English. Really all of the world is represented there if you wait long enough.”

 

“And you understand all of them, don't you?”

 

“Not all perhaps, but a great number of them, yes.”

 

“Impressive.”

 

“Necessary.”

 

“Still impressive.”

 

Greg knew his words were slurred around the yawn that stretched his jaw painfully wide, but the lethargy that had crept up on him had him firmly in its grasp. With is eyes closed it was easy to forget that their conversation wasn't taking place over a phone, it was the very real weight over his thighs and the warming skin under his hands that reminded him that this was indeed happening.

 

“Thank you. Where was I? Ah yes. Cars rumble passed outside as they drive over the grey cobbled street, the tarmac takes over just a little further up the road but right in front with the wrought iron street lamps and the cobbles, it could very well be the twenties. Over the low wall on the other side of the street you can see boats cruising down the river, it's tranquil and beautiful. But when the sun sets and the sky turns dark, the street lights burst into life. Wine glasses replace coffee cups on tables, conversations get louder and that is when the city changes. She becomes more demanding, but she gives back as much as she takes and she is beautiful.”

 

“I'm still listening, keep going.”

 

Mycroft was only too happy to carry on, the air around them was calm, the stress evaporating as each of them relaxed. No noise intruded from the outside world and it might as well have ceased to exist. The front room was the centre of the universe as far as Mycroft was concerned and he was quite content to let it remain so for as long as possible.

 

“Music starts to flow out of windows and doorways. When you walk passed the cafesand bars one song shifts into another, and then another so that the city serenades you with an ever changing sirens song as you walk alone.”

 

“Always alone? Surely not?”

 

Tom’s voice was even sleepier than before, the words lazy and slow as though moments from slipping into the dream world. Mycroft knew that sleep pulled heavily at his eyelids, the sandman had clearly called upon them both as his eyes grew grainy.

 

“Thus far it has only been the city and I on our evening meanderings.”

 

“Maybe you could show me some time?”

 

In his sleep softened state, Mycroft's mind could only hum in unchecked agreement.

 

“I believe I would relish in being your tour guide.”

 

At Princess’ words, Greg smiled at the ceiling. He wanted to go to the places being described to him. He wanted to see them through the eyes of the man who clearly loved the city he spoke of. Greg could see the images Princess painted with words, as though they were his own memories brought to life through someone else's recollection. The itch to actually be there was strong.  He could see the cobbled street in front of the cafe clearly, but in his mind it was raining. Fat raindrops falling steadily from the sky, making the stones beneath their feet shine and reflect the light from the buildings around. The patter of the drops on their shared umbrella sounded like a symphony above their heads.

 

Greg slipped into sleep so quickly that he didn't even notice when conscious thought became dread and took on a life of their own. A walk together turned into hand holding, then walking arm in arm along the bank. The scenarios constantly escalating and gaining speed inside his active mind.

 

Mycroft knew the moment Tom lost his struggle with the sleep that called to him. He let out a small grunt from the back of his throat and the sound had Mycroft prising his eyes open and craning his neck to take a look. Sure enough Tom’s eyes were closed, mouth slightly open and his head had lolled sideways on his shoulders. It didn't look like the most comfortable position, but it allowed Mycroft an unfettered view of his face. He watched as before his eyes Tom’s face changed and relaxed, lines smoothing until he was left looking at a man that looked much younger and definitely more carefree than he had.

 

If they continued. No, they were passed “if” now as far as Mycroft was concerned. He could easily imagine waking up with that face on a pillow opposite his own. Mycroft listened as Tom snorted in his sleep and then let out a snore. He could perhaps live without that, but it would be a small price to pay he was sure.

 

Tom continued to snore softly and the sound seemed to have a strange effect on Mycroft. It quickly became a lullaby in the background that chased away the silence that usually tormented him. With no one to speak to, it seemed foolish to force himself to remain awake, he doubted Tom would sleep for long, meaning he would soon wake to torture Mycroft further. He would demand he move from his current, perfectly acceptable position, to a bed. His bed, and that would surely lead to a different kind of discomfort. Mycroft let go of the stubbornness that kept his eyes open and allowed them to close and quickly dropped into a dreamless sleep. 

 

 


	15. Just jump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delays again, I think it's pretty safe to say that the posting schedule for this is shot. Actually the posting schedule for anything I'm doing is shot. I trying to write around life and while nothing is going I get abandoned things might take a little time to post. So please bear with me, I'll try not to leave people hanging for too long. 
> 
> As always there are no thanks big enough for MyCitrusPocket and all the support she gives and absolutely invaluable work she does editing these for me. In case you didn't know she writes the most amazing mystrade stories and a little birdy told me there's been an update on the bikes and brollies series. Go read folks you definitely won't regret it. Xxxx

*************************************************************************************************

Greg opened his eyes and regretted it immediately as the bright light made them sting like hell, snapping them shut again against the onslaught. He lifted his arm and brought his wrist close to his face, cautiously he cracked open one eye and squinted at his watch. When he managed to focus his bleary eyes long enough work out it was three in the morning, he swore. So much for the plan to let the pills kick in, and then move Princess to bed. At least they hadn’t slept the night away and had only lost a few hours of comfortable rest. When Greg prised his head from the back of the sofa, his neck cracked and he groaned. He’d known if he fell asleep on the sofa that this was how he’d feel, but listening to Princess tell him stories had made him so damn relaxed, he’d been powerless to stay awake.

 

Greg turned his head to look at the sleeping man. He’d slipped slightly further down into the sofa as he slept, and it had forced his head forwards so that his chin rested on his chest. Greg doubted that Princess’ neck would be in any better state than his when he woke up, and that was going to lead to even more complaining. Greg just knew that he was going to whinge. Maybe it would only be a little bit, but he knew it was coming. Not to say that is, that he minded. He was quite looking forward to having someone to talk to, to badger good naturedly. Even if it was only for a short time, if it only lasted until they had to open the front door and let in the real world that waited impatiently on the other side.

 

Time was slipping by and Greg knew it was a waste and most likely hazardous to their health, to spend any more time sleeping as they had been. One person sleeping sprawled on the sofa alone might have a semi decent night, but two? That was asking for trouble, especially when one of them really deserved the comfort of a real bed if he had any hope of being in a fit state at any point in the future.

 

Though he had moved one of his hands from beneath the heat of the blanket, Greg still had the other wrapped around the warm curve of Princess’ leg. He knew he hadn’t moved since he’d fallen asleep as his fingers were slightly stiff as he tightened his hold a little. He’d expected that change alone to wake Princess from sleep, but he was further into the clutches of his dreams than Greg had expected. The sleeping man didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge Greg’s attempt to draw him back to the real world.

 

“Come on, Princess. Open those pretty blue’s.”

 

Greg continued to flex his fingers, massaging more than anything if he cared to think about it, but he wasn’t running from that. All the fight had left him as soon as the sleep began to gather in his eyes. In the middle of the night there was no fighting and denial. He wanted this man, needed him more than he could recall needing anyone in a long time. It wasn’t as though it was a snap decision. He knew this man, the face may be new to him but the person, the mind? No, those he’d had months to get to know, and he liked them very much.

 

With only a little hesitation Greg let his hand wander from ankle to knee and back again, letting his grip tighten rhythmically. He watched the steady rise and fall of Princess’ chest, and he noticed the moment that pattern changed as he woke up. He may have woken, but he didn’t open his eyes. Greg let him have his moment, not sure if he was supposed to know he wasn't asleep or not. Deciding to take a back seat on the decision making front, Greg waited him out. He knew when Princess was ready to face him, he’d finally open his eyes and they’d move on from the closeness they currently shared. Whether it would be the end of the closeness or if it would continue, Greg just didn’t know. He hoped they could move forwards and not run away from the prospects of whatever it was they had happening, but if Princess’ was unsure or didn’t want to do that? Well, Greg would respect that. It might not be the outcome he wanted, but it wasn't just about what he wanted. Greg saw signs that he wasn't alone in his desire, they'd held hands, shared small touches and lingering glances. Beyond that, how Princess had moved to allow him to settle next to him on the sofa, even though it had caused him pain to do so. Wilfully extending their physicality when he settled his legs across Greg’s lap. None of these things suggested to Greg that he was the only one who felt their connection. Maybe his coming here in the first place had not been a sign of attraction, but it had at least shown a precursor and allowed them the opportunity to explore what had been flowing between them over the phone.

 

Now that his eyes had acclimatised to the brightness, Greg just watched as Princess pretended to be asleep for whatever reason he deemed it necessary. In time those eyes would open and he’d be ready for the move Greg had promised was coming, even if it was a little later than originally planned. All Greg had done was push Princess, now it was time to back off and let him find his feet again. Even if that meant him using those feet to walk out of the door far before Greg was ready for it. 

 

Mycroft knew he wasn’t fooling Tom, he wasn’t exactly avoiding him, more just allowing himself to acclimatise to his surroundings. At least that is what he was telling himself. It was perhaps not that he was afraid of admitting what was happening, but more that he was reluctant to burst the bubble that seemed to surround them. When he finally had to admit to being awake, Tom would have him moving to the other room. He could reason that their close contact on the sofa was warranted, it had taken no convincing to have Tom sliding into place. However, sharing the bed, which was what he truly wanted seemed more difficult a subject to broach. Mycroft was not above small acts of manipulation to get what he wanted, but he didn’t want to do that for something he knew was an important step for them. He wanted Tom to come to his bed one hundred percent sure, and of his own volition. If he didn’t? Well Mycroft would never be completely convinced that anything between them was genuine. Never in his life had he needed something to be so completely true. He wouldn’t force the issue, it was something he daren’t manipulate, it was just too important.

 

Before he gave himself a headache over-thinking everything, Mycroft decided it was time to face the music. He peeked from beneath his lashes and knew there was no going back when he saw Tom smile at him. A warm smile that felt familiar and perfect, and he knew that it could very well be his undoing. Without conscious thought, he returned it. Forcing his eyes wider, Mycroft pulled a disapproving face as the light burned his still tired eyes.

 

“I do not recall that light being at interrogation brightness earlier.”

 

“Yeah, I thought the same. I’ve no idea what wattage those things have but we can keep it in mind for future reference.”

 

The light was just too assaulting, Mycroft had to fight to keep his eyes from closing completely, but still his right eye shut on its own leaving the other squinting defiantly.

 

“How do you stand it? It is absolutely horrendous.”

 

Greg was a little bit amused by Princess’ griping. His brain wanted to call it adorable that he was not at his best when he woke up, but the feelings it inspired in him couldn’t be further from the “cute” end of the attraction scale.

 

“I don’t usually have the big light on, just the lamps and the TV. I promise it’s a lot cosier without the search light on.”

 

Becoming more and more accustomed to the light, Mycroft took the chance to look around the room. He’d been far too preoccupied to note much of anything around him earlier other than just how right it felt. The light thrown around the room was harsh and tinted blue, perhaps a daylight bulb he mused, but it was cold and unforgiving. Completely at odds with everything else about the flat, or at least what he imagined the rest beyond the living room would be. There was no doubt that Tom spoke the truth, with the main light off and the lamps scattered around the room lit, he knew he could be quite comfortable here. Even the sofa that was currently putting a crick in his neck could be forgiven, seeing as the cause of his discomfort could easily be blamed on his body seizing up. The jury was out on the sofa, he’d simply have to give it another chance at a later time when he wasn’t in such a sorry state. After he’d taken the time to look around, Mycroft finally spoke and even to his ears it sounded wistful and far away.

 

“Yes… I like it very much.”

 

Greg didn’t even try to halt the flood of pleased feelings that flowed through him as Princess expressed his approval. It was important to Greg that he liked his home. It could only work in his favour, if Princess felt comfortable surely it would be one less reason to keep him from coming back?

 

“Good. The bedroom is cosier though. Come on Princess, I know you’ve been trying to avoid it, but believe me, anywhere that didn’t hurt before will be soon if you stay there any longer.”

 

He wouldn’t meet his gaze and it had Greg worried. He hadn’t said anything out of order, he was sure of it, but there was something going on. He just had to work out what it was, though he’d had some sleep his mind was still a little sluggish. Before he could run everything through his mind, Princess spoke.

 

“Come with me?”

 

“Well, I wasn’t going to make you get there on your own! Jesus, Princess. I’m not a cruel man and I thought you’d have worked that out by now.”

 

Greg wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t just disappointment he felt either. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but he just knew what it wasn’t. He turned his head from Princess and dropped his chin, his body displaying his deflated and fragile emotional state.

 

“You are anything but cruel, Tom. You are quite the most remarkable man I believe I may ever have met.”

 

Hope. Now Greg could definitely identify that one. He felt like raw and naïve, constantly rising up and then falling back again, yo-yoing back and forth like a damn teenager. Even so he let himself feel the burst of happiness at Princess’ words. He welcomed them gratefully and with a certain amount of anticipation. Greg went from his confused state to a fledgling joy with one sentence. The time he spent with this infuriating and intriguing man was an emotional roller coaster that Greg wasn’t quite ready to get off.

 

“Impossible I’m afraid. You really do have claim to that one.”

 

With a deep breath Greg steeled himself and turned his eyes back on that man that disarmed the secure and confident part of his personality without even trying. He was glad he did, because just looking at that face and being able to see a similar insecurity mirrored back at him was all that he needed to know to keep going.

 

“Tom, I believe we will have to agree to disagree on that one. A stalemate is inevitable, I am too certain to concede otherwise. Though I did not mean to suggest you would not assist me. I shall make myself perfectly clear so that we can avoid confusion. We are both still tired, and neither of us is oblivious to the attraction between us. Am I correct so far?”

 

Greg was stunned. He wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t still asleep. He wanted so much for what he was hearing to be real. Cautiously he nodded and spoke slowly and clearly.

 

“No arguments from me so far.”

 

“Then join me in your bed? Sleep next to me? With me?”

 

“I’m not dreaming am I? Please tell me that I’m actually hearing what you’re saying and not just what I want you to be saying?”

 

Mycroft’s heart was racing. If his reaction to Tom had been strong before, he clearly hadn’t anticipated just how overwhelming it would be when they finally managed to address the elephant in the room. Not that he’d exactly planned to do that, the words had simply fallen from his lips of their own volition. It was too late to take them back now, though he most likely wouldn’t have even if he could. It would only be moments until he would know if he would regret what he’d said. Mycroft wasn't sure what he’d do if everything they'd been heading towards started to fall apart because he hadn't been able to keep his mouth in check. He had to steady his nerves, his mouth was suddenly dry and his tongue snaked out to run over his lips before he caught the bottom one in his teeth. All he needed was his courage to stick with him for a little longer. 

 

“So long as you heard me request that you join me in your bed, then I do not question your conscious state or the quality of your hearing.”

 

Greg was trying to control it, the exuberance that was bursting inside of him, as though it was trying to send all the atoms in his body scattering in different directions. His head felt like he was going to explode. He hadn't been imagining it, he should have known his imagination wasn't that cruel or even that thorough.

 

“I heard you?” 

 

Greg didn't know who he was speaking to, whether it was himself of the man that stared at him while looking like he was about to start hyperventilating. 

 

“Are you going to leave me waiting for an answer? Because right now Tom, waiting for your response is proving more agonising than enduring the stitches.”

 

“Just tell me one thing. Tell me it's not just going to be one night?”

 

Mycroft saw anxiousness dancing around Toms face and it made him look vulnerable. He watched as Tom didn’t try to hide from him, if he willingly showed that much honesty how could he fail to do the same? 

 

Princess held his gaze for a long time, and Greg watched as his eyes fluttered from side to side as he searched for something. Glancing at one eye and then the other quickly and Greg felt the weight of his scrutiny, but he held his ground until their eyes settled together for several silent and intense moments. Questions seemed to fly across the space between them and their unvoiced answered rose to meet them and swirl around each other in a perfectly choreographed dance. Greg almost started to believe that he was never going to get the answer, whether it was the one he wanted to hear or not, his skin itched for the suspense to end. When Princess did start to speak the relief Greg felt was palpable. 

 

“I have the distinct feeling that one night would never be enough, but at the same time my mind is screaming at me that we are damning ourselves. Tell me it's worth it, that we aren't about to embark upon the biggest mistake either if us is ever going to make?”

 

Reaching out automatically, Greg took Princess’ fingers in his. The contact between them hadn't been enough and they needed more to ground them. Greg understood his fears, he shared them and his own anxiety was growing. 

 

“If we get this wrong Princess, we don't just fuck this up. We could lose everything, or at least one of us will. If we looked at this rationally, if we saw other people about to do this, we’d be the first to call them fools!”

 

Greg was getting agitated, saying these things out loud seemed to give them credibility as they gained speed. Words spilled out, falling straight from his lips unchecked and discouragingly negative.

 

“We’re too old to act this recklessly! Risk everything we've worked for?”

 

He felt like is mind was unravelling at an astonishing speed. Everything he’d forced to the dark corners of his mind rushed forwards, given the opportunity they made their bid for freedom regardless of the damage they were doing on the way out. He spoke quicker, words rumbling until they reached unintelligible levels, as his panic snatched away his rationality. 

 

“The rules, it's almost salvageable now, almost if we go no further. They’ll find out, work will find out! Because that's what they do. The Government! I can't choose, I know what I should want, and what I do want and they are the complete opposite. I don't want to give you up or the work, I want a chance, need a chance! Don't you see? It's all going to snowball, a lie turns into a bigger lie and then we’re traitors and we've no jobs and we’re wanted men and where do we go from there? I don't even know why! And what if we’re wrong about whatever’s between us? If it falls apart, I don't think I can go back to like it was, they’ll find a replacement for me and then I'll have nothing!”

 

Mycroft cursed his physical state, he needed to move. Needed to help Tom, his heart was aching for the man losing himself in front of him. He needed to get to him properly, to stop him. He was hurtling out of control and didn't seem to be able to stop himself. He had to do to it for him, however he could manage, before he was too deep in the grasp of panic to be able to avert a descent to a place where he couldn't reach him. Somehow their fingers were still wrapped together, Mycroft felt a twinge of pain at the strength Tom held on with. Doing what he needed to to do he used his free hand to lever himself closer to sitting, his reset fingers angered at their treatment and throbbed and his cracked ribs screamed at their mistreatment, but Mycroft had more important things to do than worry about them. 

 

“Tom! Breathe! Damn it, come on don’t go off the deep end on me now.”

 

A voice demanding he listen broke through, no not just A voice. It was THE voice, telling him in no uncertain terms to breathe. He hadn't even realised he had been holding his breath, the burning in his lungs had been far outweighed by the goings on in his head. He’d broken out in a cold derby and the hand they held Princess’ was cramping and clammy. 

 

“There you go, just breath, Tom. I've got you, easy now. Follow mine if you need to. Steady, in... out... in.”

 

Mycroft watched as Tom, fought the grips of the panic attack that had very nearly ripped him away from him. It was clear that they had something that they were both daring to believe in and it was overwhelming. Something you didn't care about didn't have the power to affect a person, not like he'd just witnessed anyway. 

 

“Tom? Look at me! Listen to me! I know for me, the biggest mistake we could make would be walking away from the chance of something amazing. We could be denying ourselves everything and I can't do that, I want to explore it with you. If that means we eventually having to walk away from work? Then maybe that's what has to be done. I've given them everything else I had to give, I can't bear the thoughts of them taking you away as well.”

 

His chest was exploding, that could be the only explanation. He didn’t know how Princess knew the words he needed to hear, but he was speaking them anyway. So long as they were both willing to take the risk and he wasn't going to be on his own, well he could live with that. A man like Princess who was even willing to contemplate walking away from his life, just for the chance to see what lay between them? Apparently it was what Greg had needed to relax enough to calm down. He still couldn't look at him, but he kept hold of the hand that anchored him while he sat, still blanketed by the legs resting over him. Now those long limbs were pinned immobile between Greg's chest and knees as he leant forwards, eyes closed and trying to listen to the instructions clear and precise in his ear, and the demands his absurd lungs made as they sucked in the much needed air. He was vaguely aware that Princess couldn't be doing himself any good, to hold his hand while pinned he must be contorted in a way that wouldn't be easing his pain. Greg didn’t so much push his hand away, just shortened the distance Princess had to reach. He didn't want to be the cause of any more pain just when they might be getting somewhere. 

 

“We’re really going to do this, aren't we?”

 

“Yes Tom, I think we are.”

 

“Then there's one thing we need to get sorted before we try and get your decrepit arse to bed.”

 

Mycroft’s heart jumped in his throat. There was something about the tone of Tom’s voice that had him immediately on edge in anticipation. When Tom untangled their hands and shifted slightly in the seat to face him a little more, while still being careful not to jostle him, Mycroft feared what he was about to hear. He watched suspiciously when Tom leant inwards with his right hand extended as though he wanted to shake hands. Mycroft was lost, but ingrained etiquette had him cautiously reaching to slot their palms together. When he looked from their hands to Tom’s face, he was taken aback by the frankly dazzling smile that was levelled at him and all of his fear vanished. 

 

“Hi, I'm Greg. It's nice to meet you.”

 

Mycroft beamed back, the smile bursting from what seemed like the centre of his chest to radiate from his face.

 

“Hello, Greg. I'm Mycroft, it's a pleasure to meet you.”


	16. Come look at my etchings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the age it has taken me to get this next chapter up folks. Since the last update I've switched jobs, had a road trip and spent the most amazing week with MyCitrusPocket. So yeah writing time was hard to find, but I'm back with quite a long chapter for you this time so I hope it makes up for it a bit. 
> 
> Thank you as always to everyone who takes the time to read, leave kudos and comment and to MyCitrusPocket for struggling through my often confusing text when I've been writing when tired and seem to lose the ability to speak or write any kind of legible sentence. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! xx

Mycroft. Of course the exquisite man in front of him would have an equally exquisite name, and Greg wondered how he could ever have thought it would be anything else. He felt like there should be fireworks or a fanfare, just something to mark the occasion. Something so very personal and mundane in the everyday world, the sharing of a name held so much meaning he was almost choking on it. Greg wasn't daft enough to think that what they had been through in one evening would be the only trials they’d face. No, he knew that it was only the tip of the iceberg, barely hinting at the testing times that lay ahead of them. But, there'd been enough worry and panic for one night, the rest would just have to get in line and wait its turn.

 

With the panic that had gripped him fading to a bad memory, Greg let the reality of such a surreal evening to sink in, even as the smile on his face seemed cemented in place. Greg felt like he’d run a marathon, but he settled gradually in Mycroft’s steadying presence. The calm seeped through him as he and Mycroft shared the silence that followed the storm of his panic attack.

 

His Mycroft had done what no one else had ever been able to do for him. He’d talked him down with calm words and physical contact that hadn't triggered his flight instinct in any way. When the world grew heavy around him and tried to overwhelm him with its magnitude, the injured man had put everything aside to help him, stopping him before he could careen out of control as he had done in the past.

 

Greg physically shuddered as the memories he’d tried to bury came back to him, the panic, the feelings of helplessness, the loss of control. The past was not a place he liked to dwell long, at his worse he’d had delusions of thing as mundane as an imaginary two pence coin appearing in front of him and being compelled to pick it up and not being able to. Always the feeling that it was too big for his hands even though his eyes told him otherwise, that he couldn't do it even though he wasn't moving to even try. Something so stupid and yet it had tightened his chest and made him want to run away, but it had never been that easy. Greg didn't even know how to explain what it was his mind created to test him. When it happened he was aware of what was happening around him, at least a part of his mind was, though it was always as though he was only an observer of his own actions. He’d never had any way of influencing his behaviour, never been able to stop them, merely having to let it all run its course as he watched separated from himself.

 

It had been a long time since one had hit him like that. Nearly enough time for him to forget the oppressive hold they'd had over his life. As much as he wanted to ignore them and pretend they didn't exist, he'd merely been refusing to admit they had steered his decision making and life for so long. He’d let them win for years without even seeming to fight back.

 

People had laughed nervously when Greg had taken the job and begun working in a high stress environment. They had tried to tell him that it wouldn't be good for him. That he was going to put too much pressure on himself and harm himself more. Greg had never been in denial about the panic attacks and anxiety that assaulted him, but he'd needed more. Craved something unknown and nothing he'd been doing had helped eradicate that feeling, so he'd been determined to grab hold of the opportunity that had landed in his lap unexpectedly. He’d packed up his things and moved across the country resolute that he was done just getting by in life day to day. It had been seven years since he’d made that decision, seven years of meaningful life he owed to that one bold choice.

 

Contrary to everyone’s belief the high stress job had been just what he’d needed. An escape valve for all the frustration that he let build up inside of him, it gave everything an exit rather than just waiting until it filled him until it all exploded from him in uncontrolled destructive outbursts. It had been a gradual change at first, but it had slowly gained momentum allowing him to become bolder and almost forget, until the point where the attacks seemed to stop. Greg hadn’t been naïve enough to believe they were no longer a part of his day to day life, but he’d allowed himself to flourish in the new life he’d managed to carve out for himself.  Unfortunately the weight of emotions and all the upheaval and uncertainty had been enough to blindside him and have all those old feelings rushing back to the surface, but instead of drowning him, Mycroft had been there. Strong and steady, keeping his head above the raging water and pulled him from the grasping clutches. With his touch and voice, Mycroft had rescued him.

 

Now they sat facing each other, hands still clasped together and both of them physically and emotionally exhausted. There would be more time to explore and think, but there’d been enough of that, it could and would wait for another night.

 

Greg wasn’t sure just how much time had passed with them sitting as they were, face to face just looking at each other and smiling. He realised unconsciously he’d taken Mycroft’s hand between both of his and was playing with the graceful digits and stroking at the unexpectedly soft skin, meshing their fingers over and over again in a hypnotic dance. Greg wasn’t sure at what point the room had started to get even warmer, but he’d swear it was. Taking a deep breath he straightened slightly without breaking the contact they shared.

 

“Why are we still sitting on the sofa, Mycroft? We made the decision, let’s not put it off any longer.”

 

“No, Greg. I think we are just wasting valuable time with our inactivity.”

 

“Mycroft.”

 

“Greg, are you just going to keep saying my name?”

 

“You know what, Mycroft? I think I might just do that. Is that quite alright with you, Mycroft?”

 

“If you say it too many times it will lose all sense of meaning and cease to sound correct.”

 

“I think it will always sound just right, no matter how many times I say it and the most important meaning it can have is that it’s yours, and I don’t need to know anything else.”

 

Mycroft stumbled over his words a little, mumbling a response not adequate when compared with the feelings Greg’s words inspired in him.

 

“I believe it has something to do with water and fields, not the most normal of names.”

 

“I like it, it’s unique and extraordinary and it seems like the perfect name for you if I’m honest. Unusual and special, just like I have a feeling you’re going to be. We’re going to be, in fact.”

 

Mycroft hoped that Greg never stopped looking at him like he was right then. His eyes focused with such intensity that they burned into his very core with their heat and it made Mycroft suck in a breath, he regretted it soon enough when the ache of his ribs intensified. Greg didn’t stop looking at him, but Mycroft watched the flash of concern that crossed his face behind his focussed gaze. Greg raised an eyebrow and one side of his lips raised in a smile that made him look vulnerable and predatory all at the same time, Mycroft bit back the moan that wanted to work its way from his throat. With his tanned skin and with a distinguished looking grey already starting to pepper his hair throughout, but especially at his temples, Mycroft wanted to run his fingers through it, wanted to feel if it would be as soft beneath his touch as it looked. Mycroft had fallen quickly and willingly under the spell woven in those deep and rich desire filled eyes.

 

“You’re not helping, Greg. Help an injured man to his feet?”

 

“Anything. You only have to ask, Mycroft.”

 

Mycroft watched Greg’s lips move as they spoke his name. The pout as his lips wrapped themselves around the letters, the way he exaggerated the last syllable and ended with a sharp T leaving his lips slightly parted and very, very tempting. Greg topped it all off by slowly licking his lips as he tilted his head down slightly. Mycroft’s stomach flipped, his heart rate increased and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of Greg looking so wickedly attractive. His thoughts took a decidedly lascivious turn at the tempting display Greg made in front of him. Mycroft knew the instant Greg saw the effect he was having on him, he grinned and it did nothing to dampen his increasingly interested libido as his body made a valiant effort to respond despite its trauma. Mycroft groaned deep in his chest and despite the pain in his ribs and the pulling of his stitches he leant forwards even further until he was hunched in on himself.

 

Mycroft worried Greg when he slumped forwards and he immediately let go of his hand to bring his hands to Mycroft’s cheeks, urging him with gentle insistence to look up at him as he searched his face for signs of pain or any clue as to what was wrong. When he allowed his head to be tilted and his eyes met Greg’s, Greg knew instantly what was going on. Mycroft’s pupils swamped his irises and despite Greg’s fear about the blood loss Mycroft had suffered, his cheeks had turned from the sickly paleness to a very appealing pink. It was impossible for him to keep the amazed wonder and mirrored desire out of his voice.

 

“God you’re beautiful.”

 

The blush in those cheeks deepened and Greg could feel the heat beneath his palms. He looked over his face, drawn time and time again to the lips that Mycroft drew between his teeth, worrying them and turning them a delicious pink that demanded that Greg close the gap between them and seal his own to them. With a shake of his head, Greg tried to control his urges and slid his hands along Mycroft’s stubbled cheeks until they left his skin altogether and dropped to rest on his thighs.

 

Mycroft wanted those hands back where they had been, he wanted the conclusion they’d been working towards before Greg had retreated. He knew it was for the best, once they started Mycroft knew they wouldn’t want to stop, probably wouldn’t be able to and as much as he regretted it, there was no way for him to do what he really craved.

 

“You look like I just took away your favourite toy, Mycroft. Don’t worry the minute we can get something together and you’re not in pain… or at least not like this, trust me we’re gonna come back to this when there’s nothing to stop us.”

 

Mycroft swallowed and nodded while feeling the bubble of excitement in his stomach, he wasn’t sure what was affecting him more, whether it was the postponing for now, or the prospect of what was to come. If he’d ever had more incentive to heal quickly he couldn’t recall it.

 

“Come on, let’s get moving. There’s a bed calling our name and I’d quite like to share it with you. To sleep for now, but I promise you when we’ve talked about it and we’re both ready, there’s a lot between us that we’re going to work on.”

 

Pleased with his speech, Greg stood and looked down at Mycroft. He watched and shuffled his weight from one foot to the other while Mycroft gingerly moved himself around on the sofa carefully. Greg made to reach for him, to help in any way he could, but Mycroft shook his head slightly and there was nothing more he could do but watch and wait until Mycroft was ready for him.

 

 

 

Eventually Mycroft’s feet touched the floor and the movement left him panting slightly as he reclined against the back of the sofa looking like there were a million different things he’d rather be doing than moving further any time soon. Greg was a little clueless as to how to get Mycroft off the sofa. His look was joined by Mycroft’s similar ones, both of their faces grim. They definitely didn’t look like your average couple about to go to bed together for the first time. Greg was forced to shrug his shoulders in defeat.

 

“Mycroft, I’ve no idea how to do this. You’re going to have to call the shots, tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”

 

“Don’t worry, Greg. We’re fine, I just need you to stand there, hold out your hands and brace yourself. Can you do that for me?

 

Greg nodded, but then held up one finger before spinning around. Bending over he placed both hands on the edge of the coffee table and shoved it until it budged so he could push it out of the way and give them more room. They were going to need more space, the last thing they needed was for either of them to fall over it.  Turning back Greg adjusted his stance and quickly wiped his suddenly damp palms over the thighs of his grey jogging bottoms. Taking a deep breath he held out his hands.

 

“Come on Mycroft, ready when you are.”

 

“I suppose there’s no time like the present.”

 

With a hand against the back of the sofa, Mycroft pushed himself upright and shuffled his bum towards the edge of the cushion. Once he steadied himself and was happy that he wasn’t just going to fall backwards, he placed both of his hands in Greg’s. He looked up and tensed his fingers as he nodded, in response Greg tightened his hold and Mycroft felt the strength in his grip and it relieved some of his trepidation. He counted down from three in his head, and when he got to zero and didn’t move at all, he did it again. Holding his breath, when he completed his countdown again he tensed all his muscles and using Greg as his anchor slowly pushed up with his legs and pulled with his arms until he was rising from his seated position. There was much creaking and protesting of muscles and abused bone and Mycroft was sure that each noise was audible in the room.

 

Greg remained as still as a statue, an immovable force that Mycroft used as his fixed point when the world swam a little in front of him as he finally reached vertical. He swayed a little and Greg released one of his hands to rest it on Mycroft’s hip to steady him more effectively.

 

Staying objective was proving increasingly difficult for Greg. On the sofa there had been at least some distance between them, but now Greg could feel the solid heat of Mycroft against his front and beneath his steadying hand the smoothness of his skin that made him want to see if the rest of him would feel the same, and that wasn’t even the most distracting thing. He couldn’t look down, he daren’t look down, and even knowing that he shouldn’t, he still did. Locking his knees he kept himself and Mycroft standing, but Mycroft made a very distracting sight that made hunger pool deep in his stomach and his chest tighten. The pale iridescent skin covered with freckles and his chest hair called to Greg, making his hands itch to run them through the thatch of fire coloured strands. He’d obviously noticed Mycroft’s body as he’d tended to him, but this up close and personal after their revelations and without Greg having to focus on stopping the leaking of rather vital fluid, he got to actually look, think and appreciate, and oh God did he appreciate.

 

Mycroft had his eyes closed and just resisted the urge to curl back in on himself and wait for the pain to abate to its more manageable level. Truthfully the pain was much improved and Mycroft knew if he’d been alone, he would be making more of an effort to compartmentalise the pain and he would have succeed so that he could carry on. Here though, in Greg’s company he was enjoying being cared for and yes, being cared about. So perhaps he was letting himself remain a tad more helpless than he usually had the luxury of being, but it did no harm. With his eyes closed, Mycroft hadn’t realised he’d been automatically leaning closer to Greg, not until his bared skin touched soft fabric that covered a rather solid chest underneath. Mycroft contemplated moving, knowing that they were making things more difficult for themselves so soon after making the decision to wait before making the final leap towards physical intimacy, but he quickly dismissed that notion. They were adults, they could manage contact without spiralling out of control surely? Feeling the rise and fall of Greg’s chest against his was testing all of his resolve however. He felt Greg release the hand he still held and missed its comfort immediately, but he didn’t have to wait long until it mirrored it’s partner on Mycroft’s other hip, a steadying and most welcome presence as he was almost held in Greg’s sturdy arms.

 

“You alright there, Mycroft? Ready to move again? The bedroom isn’t far.”

 

Opening his eyes, Mycroft was once more startled by the brightness of the room, and squinted at Greg, face screwed in mild annoyance. He was a little surprised at just how close they were in height. He was actually leaning towards Greg and slightly slouched as he was, he stared straight into those deep, intoxicating eyes framed by long lashes.

 

“Yes, yes I get it. I’ll change the bulb, stop glaring at me. It is pretty cute though.”

 

As if to prove Greg’s point, Mycroft frowned again but retained eye contact and Greg didn’t think he’d ever seen anything quite so adorable.

 

“I am not cute.”

 

“Yeah, Mycroft, you are.”

 

Without even thinking Greg leant forwards and before he’d even realised what he was doing, he’d kissed the end of Mycroft’s elegant, patrician nose. Both men immediately froze and raised their eyebrows simultaneously, neither quite sure how to proceed. Greg spoke first and his voice was a little uncertain and rather husky.

 

“Is that ok?”

 

“More than ok, not surprisingly, but oh so tempting. You are positive we must wait?”

 

Mycroft’s free hand floundered at his side, somewhat lost without anything to hold onto, but it found a home on its own quickly enough. Moving so that he wrapped his fingers around Greg’s waist much in the same way Greg held him. He made subconscious arching movements with his thumb and worked them underneath Greg’s jumper to stroke the heated skin he found.

 

“Yes, I’d quite like to rip your clothes off and partake in some rather energetic and mutual ravishing. Hate to tell you Mycroft, but yeah, you being in pain doesn’t really do it for me.”

 

“While that is good to hear, it doesn’t necessarily please me right now.”

 

“Stop pouting, I’m not going to give in. Come on you’ve done the standing up, just shuffle that ass towards the bedroom. ”

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but smiled tiredly all the same.

 

“You are sure, Greg, that you don’t just wish to stare wantonly at my posterior?”

A low rumble sounded at the back of his throat directed straight at Mycroft. Greg knew exactly what he was doing, but Mycroft wasn’t the only stubborn one. No matter what Mycroft said, there was going to be nothing more than sleeping. For now at least.

 

“If you insist on making such noises, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”

 

“Mycroft, I’m begging. Please let’s just go to bed.”

 

“As you wish.”

 

Emboldened by their interactions, Mycroft gingery shuffled until his back was to Greg’s front. Purposefully not putting distance between them as he moved so that his bare skin brushed quite deliberately against Greg, not once breaking contact as he turned in his arms. Mycroft loved the feel of Greg’s hands as they slid around his waist bridging the gap between silky underwear and smooth skin warmed by the contact. Greg didn't let go of him for a moment and Mycroft was extremely grateful for that. There was no mistaking the touch as anything other than a caress, but Mycroft knew those tender hands would become strong in a moment should he falter even slightly.

 

With Mycroft facing in the right direction, Greg took the smallest of steps forwards closing the gap that separated them and bringing him flush against Mycroft’s back. Both men groaned once more as Mycroft gave a less than subtle roll of his hips.

 

“You’re going to be the death of me aren't you, Princess.”

 

“The only death involved between us will be Le petit mort.”

 

The only response he could muster to the images that Mycroft’s words created in Greg’s head was to grip the hips under his fingers marginally tighter while at the same time being cautious enough to not cause any added pain.

 

“Now I definitely stand by my original statement. Come on, we’re going.”

 

Acknowledging that he couldn't put it off any further, Mycroft shifted his weight and began to walk forwards in a rather undignified manner. Greg stuck with him, ever present against his back and he kept him straight and steady without jostling him or impeding him in any way. Their movement did however highlight that Mycroft had other pressing concerns to take care of before they could retire or things were sure to get more embarrassing and desperate.

 

“Could we perhaps make a detour to the bathroom before reaching our intended destination?”

 

“God yeah, sorry Mycroft, I should have thought.”

 

“Greg, why would you need to think about my bodily functions? You've done enough worrying and thinking about me already this evening, for which I am more than thankful. You have been truly amazing, Greg. Thank you.”

 

Greg blushed at the praise and careered his throat before speaking as they made slow progress.

 

“I think we've established that me and you are well, a thing that has gotten quite serious, quite quickly. So it kinda comes with the territory. I'm allowed to worry about you and take care of you too. That bit I rather like by the way, but let’s do it without stitches and blood next time.”

 

Pressed as he was against Mycroft’s back he couldn’t see the worst of the damage, but when Mycroft had turned in his arms Greg would have had to be blind to miss the bruises that had been hidden from him pressed against the cushions as they had been up until that point. Greg could quite easily see the signs of the weapon that had done the damage. There was no other way about it, there were purple and red boot prints marring Mycroft’s back and Greg could barely hold back the anger that flushed through him and he shuddered with the thought. He bit is tongue, knowing it would do Mycroft no good to have to deal with his temper as well. Greg took several deep breaths before he spoke again.

 

“Yep, none of this again please. I don’t think I can handle this again. Man flu? I’ll wrap you up warm, feed you soup and give you the telly remote. Random illness? No problem, hell I’ll even hold the bucket for you if you’re sick, but please don’t make me give you stitches again. No more of this.”

 

Greg rested his forehead against the back of Mycroft’s skull, it was taking quite a while to manoeuvre the short distance, but as they weren’t in any kind of rush he let himself enjoy being so close to him. To comfort him, Mycroft placed both of his hands over Greg’s and patted them as he spoke.

 

“You are aware, given our profession that “this” as you put it, is just as likely if not more so than the other scenarios you mentioned?”

 

“Give a guy a break would you? Let me get over the trauma of this one before you go running off into danger again. I’m going to do a lot of worrying over you, aren’t I?”

 

“There's no need for extra concern. Did you not hear? I've got the best controller a man could wish for, he has fantastic contacts and his skills are unrivalled. I have the utmost faith that between he and I, we shall make it through whatever appears in our path.”

 

“Oh really? I’d quite like to meet this guy.”

 

“Sorry he’s mine only, we make a superb team. You don't need to worry, he gets me out of trouble.”

 

“And will continue to do so. Vested interest and all that.”

 

With Greg’s guidance they reached the bathroom without incident and the ongoing conversation had effectively distracted Mycroft enough that it hadn’t been as bad as expected. Mycroft reached for the door handle, but Greg didn’t release his hold.

 

“Unless you are joining me in the bathroom, you’re going to have to let me go, Greg.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“It does seem like the most logical of conclusions.”

 

“Don’t lock the door, all right? And if you don’t feel so good, I don’t care about your pride, you call me and I’ll come help. Understood?”

 

While determined that he could take care of his own bathroom visit, it was somewhat of a relief to know that should he need it, help was available.

 

“I won’t lock the door.”

 

Reluctantly Greg released Mycroft, not stepping away merely allowing him to walk out of his arms and into the bathroom.

 

“You won't lock the door AND you’ll call me if you need help.”

 

Mycroft nodded at Greg as he closed the door slowly between them, smiling as the door sealed the gap leaving Greg waiting in the hall. It wasn't the most dignified thing Greg could ever remember doing, but it was necessary as far as he was concerned. He managed to resist pressing his ear to the door, but it was a close run thing. Convincing himself that Mycroft was only on the other side of an unlocked door, an internal door that he could have broken down even if it had been locked, settled him enough to step back from the door to rest his shoulders against the opposite wall and wait. Crossing his arms across his chest Greg stood sentry, careful to remain still and silent so that he could hear if Mycroft needed his help.

 

Now he was inactive Greg started to feel his previous tiredness creeping up in him once more, he stifled his yawn and looked down at his feet as he wiggled his toes, he was warm and content and it was not doing anything to keep him awake. The flat was too warm, thinking about sleeping in the almost stifling heat had him wondering whether he should turn down the thermostat again. He didn't want Mycroft getting cold that was for sure, but once they were in bed the wonderfully thick and soft duvet would keep any chill at bay.

 

“Mycroft?”

 

The voice that came from inside the bathroom was hollow and slightly muffled by the door.

 

“I won't be too much longer, Greg.”

 

“No that's fine, take however long you want. Are you warm enough?”

 

“Greg, I'm in a tiled bathroom with a bare arse. What do you think?”

 

He would have been embarrassed for asking such a daft question if he hadn't heard the mirth in Mycroft’s voice.

 

“Good point, but I meant the flat in general. I don't want you overheating and being uncomfortable.”

 

“Do whatever you think is best, your judgement is good enough for me.”

 

“Oh, ok yeah. No worries. There are extra toothbrushes or whatever in the cabinet next to the shower if you want, use anything you want. If I've got it, you can have it.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome, make yourself at home. Ok I'm going to go turn the heat down. Do you want a drink to take to bed? Glass of water? Hot drink? Are you hungry?”

 

“Greg.”

 

“I know, sorry. I'm going now. It's not a big flat just shout and I’ll hear you.”

 

Greg shuffled from foot to foot before getting himself together and forcing himself to walk away from the bathroom even though it went against every instinct he had. Creeping outside the bathroom listening to what was going on inside was a little odd, even under the current circumstances.

 

Turning the heat down to the usual level for warm comfort rather than heart palpitation causing heat, Greg ran to the kitchen. Grabbing two glasses from the cupboard he filled them haphazardly, so focused on listening for any sign that Mycroft was in need of help that he coved himself with more water than he actually managed to get in the glasses. Wiping his hands on his jogging bottoms he picked up both glasses and took them quickly to the bedroom, placing one on each side table Greg flicked the switches on the lamps on as he went.

 

Greg eyed the bed and chewed the inside of his cheek in contemplation before dragging the duvet right to the bottom of the mattress to make it easier for Mycroft to get in and as comfortable as possible. Perking his ears, Greg could hear no signs that Mycroft was ready to leave the bathroom so he quickly stripped off his clothes and threw on a rarely used pair pyjamas bottoms he pulled from his chest of drawers. Given that the washing hamper was in the bathroom, Greg just balled up the clothes he'd taken off and threw them onto a chair in the corner. With perfect timing Greg finished just as he heard the familiar sounds of the toilet flushing and water running through the pipes. Leaving the bedside lights light on, Greg quickly hot footed it back down the hall to wait for the bathroom door to open once more.

 

When Mycroft finally opened the door he was leaning heavily on the frame, but he did smile when he saw Greg lounging back against the wall waiting for him. He’d changed clothes and now his chest was delightfully bare and oh so distracting. He wore only a pair of dark plaid drawstring pyjama bottoms that settled low on his hips, framing the tanned skin in a rather distracting manner that left Mycroft biting his lips. He blinked quickly several times trying to dislodge the rather x-rated images flashing though his mind and distracting him from matters at hand, he managed to compose himself and convince his nether regions that it really wasn’t the best time for it to make itself known before allowing the door to swing open completely. Greg moved forwards immediately offering his arms as support again.

 

Staying on his feet but only marginally, Mycroft stepped out of the bathroom waving off Greg’s hands. Not because he didn’t want it, but because he needed to prove to himself that he was capable. He didn’t see any hurt in Greg’s eyes as he stepped back to allow Mycroft to pass. He cocked his head to the left and held out his right arm as if he was herding Mycroft towards the bed. He hovered close at hand but allowed him to that space to take the steps under his own steam.

“Do you want to bind your ribs? Just to stabilise them for the night?”

 

“No, this isn't my first foray into damaged rib territory. It will be fine, there's no need to wrap them.”

 

“So long as you're sure. If you change your mind I have bandages and tape that’ll do the job, just tell me if you change your mind. Even if you have to wake me up to do it.”

 

Though his movements were stiff and jerky, Mycroft appeared less unsteady and fragile as he had been. Without Greg to act as his crutch, he kept his hands on the wall trailing his fingers along the mink coloured paintwork distractedly. He wasn’t leaning on the wall, he just appeared to be using it as a guide, perhaps even something he wasn’t aware he was doing. When he encountered the numerous picture frames that dotted the wall he seemed to caress them, noting the change from matte wall to smooth and shiny frame. Greg knew then that his Mycroft was a very tactile man and he couldn’t wait until he got to be the object that those fingers trailed across and studied. Turning his head, Mycroft studied what his fingers touched. At one picture in particular he stopped abruptly just as he passed it and took a step backwards almost colliding with Greg as he brought himself in line with the one image that had caught his attention. He studied it intently for a moment, before turning his body to look at Greg with an arched brow.

 

“You have varied tastes in décor, Greg.”

Looking up and down the hall, he tried to see his home through the eyes of someone else.

 

“I don’t know, it all seems to fit together well enough.”

 

“It was not meant as a criticism, I like it all. But this one, I think I like this one most of all.”

 

Greg looked at the black and white photograph that Mycroft had singled out, simply framed by white card and then finally surrounded by a wide black frame.

 

“Why this one?”

 

Mycroft looked over the image of a stormy violent sea breaking onto a pebbled shore against the backdrop of a cloudy atmospheric sky. The concealed sunlight playing off the clouds, creating almost glowing patterns amongst the rippled blanket that hid the sky. Foam and spray cast high into air as the waves crashed angrily against the coastline and caught by the wind only evident in the effect it had on the turbulent water. Mycroft could almost hear the tumble of the pebbles as they raced back towards the water’s edge after being carried up the shore, misplaced and eager to return to their home after being wrenched from their homes by the powerful will of the water. A yearning he didn’t quite understand came over him, inspired by an image that captured such movement, held in stasis forever. Stopping time, the turning of the world halted with one shutter click. ~~~~

 

“It is beautiful.”

 

Mycroft cursed in his mind. Of all the things that ran through his head while faced with such an emotive image and all he could say was it was beautiful? Where had the words he so often relied upon gone? His internal chastisement was cut short by Greg speaking to him.

 

“Thank you. One photo in about a hundred I took that morning. The rest had nothing, but I liked that one.”

 

“You took this?”

 

There was genuine wonder in Mycroft’s voice at Greg’s revelation. He wasn’t looking at him while he spoke, unable to tear his eyes from fluttering around the details of Greg’s photograph. Even though it was black and white, it wasn’t difficult for him to image all the blue and purple shades he knew were there in the waves and stones. It was almost hypnotic to Mycroft and he was in awe of Greg. The more he learnt about the man, the more he found he liked. It wasn’t exactly a revelation, it had been obvious from even their earliest conversations if he looked back on it, but it was good to add the extra validation.

 

“Yes, on a lovely beach in Scotland. If you like it, you can have it. I’ve got more.”

 

Greg rubbed at his neck and knew his face was going red. Hearing and seeing Mycroft enjoying something so personal to him left him flustered and tongue tied.

 

When Mycroft dragged his eyes from the compelling image, Greg looked adorable. So delightfully self-conscious under his praise, a fact that Mycroft filed away for future reference.

 

“Are you asking me to come and see your etchings, Greg?”

 

Mycroft wagged his eyebrows and smirked suggestively; his dancing brows made Greg forget his discomfort and just shake his head at his antics.

 

“How do you ever manage to convince people you’re not a complete goof?”

 

In a split second Mycroft went from playful joking to a flat, expressionless mask of a face.

 

“Because I am very, very good.”

 

It was chilling to see, but demonstrated his point perfectly. However Mycroft did it, he just hoped that he was never the serious focus of that look.

 

“God, Mycroft, don’t do that again. It’s like you disappear.”

 

Mycroft reached his hand out to Greg and waited until he took it before squeezing his fingers reassuringly.

 

“Most people only know that version of me. You do not, and that is strange for me, but I find it is not unwelcome. I promise I won’t hide behind that man with you. Now, about those etchings?”

 

“Alright, good and yes let’s go to bed. You’ve been on your feet too long as it is.”

 

Without letting go of Greg’s hand, Mycroft turned and set his foot forwards to cross the short distance between the point he’d stopped and their goal. He slid his eyes over the image one more time, reluctant to leave it behind.

 

“I do want to see your pictures though. Tomorrow perhaps, if you are amenable that is?”

 

“Anything you want, Princess. Your mattress awaits.”

 

With the lights Greg had left on, Mycroft saw that the walls were covered with artfully arranged frames. He wanted to take the time to look at each one, scrutinise each details that Greg had managed to capture. Mycroft liked the whole room in fact. It was calm and restful, a deep grey that managed somehow not to be cold and stark white trimmings framing it top and bottom. It acted as the perfect accompaniment to the myriad of frames and seemed to make them all the more appealing. The bed, well that dominated the room, sitting high from the floor Mycroft knew that even at his height he’d be climbing up into it. A height that his mind helpfully highlighted could provide many interesting possibilities in the future. It was piled with plush pillows and a luxuriously thick duvet that retained their masculinity by echoing a multitude of complimentary shades of grey and white in the fabrics of varying texture.

 

Absolutely torn, Mycroft looked time and time again from the bed to the walls and back again without making another step in either direction.

 

“No, Mycroft. They’ll still be there tomorrow. Don’t get sidetracked, alright?”

 

Mycroft looked pained as he was torn between the bed and wanting to see the photographs up close. At the gentle tug on his hand, Mycroft allowed himself to be brought to the bottom of the bed.

 

“Do you want the left or the right? Mycroft? Which side do you want?”

 

“Sorry, there’s so much to look at, it is hard to remain on task.”

 

Greg waited patiently for Mycroft to make his decision, it wouldn’t be too long before he chose. Greg’s preference was to sleep furthest from the door, but Mycroft could sleep anywhere he wanted. Hell if he wanted to sleep in the middle, Greg would make it work.

He jostled Mycroft’s hand to get his attention again, he didn’t let him go though it was too nice just feeling the warm, solid weight of his hand. Mycroft indicated the side of the bed closest to them and looked at Greg, asking without words if his choice was acceptable.

 

“Course, whichever side you want. You ok lying down?”

 

“I may be slow, but I am not yet infirm.”

 

“Oh really? So what would happen if I poked you in the ribs right now?”

 

“I rather wish you wouldn’t. I shall manoeuvre myself, though where I land may be where I stay, for which I apologise in advance should that be somewhat inconvenient.”

 

“Mycroft, do what you need to, I’ll fit around you like a jigsaw piece. So long as you’re comfy enough it’s all fine.”

 

Watching Mycroft get into bed might actually be one of the most amusing and sympathy inspiring thing Greg had ever seen. When he’d released his hand, Greg has worried that he was just going to drop onto the bed from his height, but no. Instead Greg watched as Mycroft managed to lift his knees a little and like his spine had fused and his knees rusted and seized he climbed awkwardly onto the bed ending up on all fours, his arse pointing in Greg’s direction. Most definitely a drool worthy view as far as he was concerned, though he felt his pyjamas tightening he had to snort a laugh at the sight.

 

“I swear to everything that is holy Greg, if you continue with that laugh there will be strong words exchanged.”

 

With a swift step to the right towards his own side of the bed, Greg deliberately stepped out of Mycroft’s eye line to hide the grin he was trying not to let escape. He covered it, none too convincingly with a cough.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dearest.”

 

So easily they’d slipped into a level of banter that was both easy and intimate for them. Without any thought the term of endearment had seemed natural and unforced, Greg’s mind hadn't stumbled over his use of the word and barely even noted it at all.

 

With a resigned sigh, Mycroft seemed to flop down to land on his front with very little apparent care, leaving his arms bent at uncomfortable looking angles from his body. Greg’s suspicions were borne out when even though muffled by the pillow he’d planted his face in, Mycroft's moan was still loud in the otherwise quiet room.

 

Greg left him to compose himself without comment, instead he went to switch off the bedside lamp on Mycroft’s side of the bed. Picked up the duvet from the bottom of the bed he pulled it up until it covered Mycroft to the waist before heading back to his half. Climbing carefully onto the bed, Greg was glad he’d splurged on the mattress when it didn't rock Mycroft unnecessarily as he got comfortable. Lying on his side facing Mycroft, he propped his hand against his palm and looked at the man beside him.

 

“Are you going to suffocate if I leave you like that?”

 

Mycroft responded, or at least Greg assumed he did. It was more a series of mumbles that varied in pitch and length, completely void of actual meaning, directed as they were into the muffling pillow.

 

“If you're staying like that, you'd best give up the pillow or you’ll hurt you neck. Brace yourself, I'm working to pull it away.”

 

There was no mistaking the unhappy sounds that time, but Greg knew it had to be done. He grasped the corner of the pillow and started to wheedle it from beneath Mycroft’s head. Slowly he pulled it, extremely conscious not to move to quickly while Mycroft seemed to be settling as well as could be expected. He did elevate his head slightly which aided Greg, but it wasn't much. When it finally slid free he dropped it off his side of the bed.

 

Returning to looking at his bed mate Greg couldn't resist the urge to run his hand over the mussed hair that stood up at interesting angles. He smoothed it down with gentle touches that quickly became caresses as he repeated the action over and over.

 

“Hmmm, ’s’nice.”

 

Mycroft’s voice was deeper and heavy with sleep as Greg watched his body relaxing slightly, only occasionally halted by a jerk of pain which caused Mycroft to tense again and let out a whoosh of air.

 

“Go to sleep, Mycroft.”

 

“Hmmmm”

 

Greg heard no more intelligible sounds from Mycroft, as he drifted into what would be a fitful sleep. Greg watched him for a little longer listening to his breathing and watching the uneven laboured movements of his ribcage. Content that though his breathing wasn't exactly easy, it didn't seem to have worsened, Greg finally allowed his heavy eyes to close. His mind wasn't quite ready to quiet though, focusing on the other man in the bed. It was the first time anyone had shared this bed with him and Greg was happy as it felt right. He couldn't imagine it being anyone else beside him. It felt right that there were no memories of other people between them. The bed was their space and for a reason Greg couldn't quite pinpoint that seemed important.

 

Greg left his lamp on just in case Mycroft woke disoriented in the night, so that if he did he would be able to see where he was and know that he was safe. There was no way the light would keep either exhausted man awake anyway. Greg didn't sleep as deeply as Mycroft, on some level aware that he might need something in the night and wanting to be able to help if he did, but the dreams that his mind created were good ones.

 


End file.
